Savannah: The Show That Never Ends
Written by Tristan McKeller. Graphic by Laura García.
If some cities are built for business, then Savannah was built for stories. Everywhere you look, in every square and every park, someone is adding a new chapter to their own personal history. Maybe this scene lasts an hour, maybe a day, hell, maybe it even lasts a lifetime. Savannah isn’t picky about who performs on her stage; in fact, she needs them to survive.
Down in Reynolds Square, a man named Hakim plays his saxophone the same way he has for 20 years. There’s no set list for his performance, nor is there any admission fee. He plays whatever floats in on the breeze and welcomes any spectators to pull back the curtain and meet the wizard. He asks anyone who tips if they have a song in mind. It’s not about money down here, nor is it about fame; he’ll hide from anyone trying to take his picture. Hakim plays for the love of playing, and he’s not the only one.
A block over in Johnson Square, a man named Marion plays “When The Saints Go Marching In.” He’s wearing his signature sailor’s hat and tank top adorned with the American flag and sits on a bench in his own world. Without so much as a word, he lovingly teases Donald, a tour guide he’s known for years. Whenever Donald begins his tour with the story of Nathaniel Greene, Marion subtly turns up the volume. He does this with every storyteller, but Donald is the only one who notices.
The number of tour groups Marion toys with has grown steadily over the years. Today, many of Savannah’s walking tour guides regularly play host to up to thirty guests at a time. On a Friday or Saturday night, they look like generals leading tiny armies around the city, conjuring the dead with nothing but their words. Some of them embrace the lighthearted nature of the job, dressing as ghosts and goblins, plague doctors and pirates. Others, like Leroy Malphus, prefer a more understated lantern as their accessory.
Together, they combine to lead thousands of tourists through the city as the months go by. School trips, family vacations and corporate retreats are some of Savannah’s most frequent visitors, but none of them can compete with the bachelorettes.
Sure as sweet tea in July, bachelorette parties make the pilgrimage to Savannah’s sacred streets like it was divinely ordained. Ranging anywhere from a few quiet friends to thirty flirty belles louder than a church revival on payday, they hit Savannah like a September hurricane. But although they’re loud, they bring the noise that keeps Savannah’s heart beating.
Without the rambunctious bachelorettes, wide-eyed retirees, and sunburned families sporting Savannah Banana gear, the lovely artists in Chippewa Square may not have anyone to sell their work to. They spend countless hours in the heat, capturing every brick, shadow, and slant of light with meticulous care. They hold out hope that one day, these temporary neighbors notice the breeze rustling the moss or the sun glinting off James Oglethorpe’s sword the same way they do. Sure, it’s a long shot, but they still show up each day like it’s opening night and the house is full.
Savannah sees all of this and rejoices. She’s spent three centuries dressing her stage —brick by brick, bloom by bloom, shadow by streetlamp. It wasn’t easy, and it hasn’t always been the best performance, but each fresh face speeding down I-16 presents an opportunity to tell her story to a new audience.
So, each time you venture out into the Hostess City of the South, take a moment to recognize the performers she’s laid out for you today. Maybe stop for a moment and listen to Marion’s trumpet or Hakim’s saxophone. Think twice about that Gullah rose handed to you on River Street, and look a little closer at that painting that caught your eye in Chippewa Square. It might be Savannah crafting one of her famous stories just for you.
