The stage lights dim, and a hush falls over the empty auditorium. I stand in the center of Savannah’s oldest theater – The Savannah Theatre – and I can almost feel the history breathing around me. The faded scent of powder and perfume lingers in the wooden floorboards, and somewhere in the rafters I imagine the ghostly echo of applause from performances long past. As the owner of Haunted Savannah Tours and a devoted historian, I’ve spent many nights exploring this grand old Savannah Theatre on Chippewa Square, delving into its 200-year story. This article is my guided tour through time, unraveling the rich tapestry of historical milestones and eerie hauntings that make this theater a cornerstone of Haunted Savannah lore.
Savannah Ghost Tours often include this legendary venue as a highlight, and for good reason. Few places in Savannah, Georgia encapsulate the city’s blend of Southern charm, dramatic history, and supernatural intrigue like the Savannah Theatre. By day, it stands as a beautifully restored historic theater still hosting live performances and delighting audiences. But by night – or when the crowds have gone home – an uncanny atmosphere settles in. Many swear that unseen spectators remain in the balconies and backstage, ghostly actors awaiting their next cue. In my time researching and leading tours, I’ve gathered stories from stagehands, actors, and even skeptics who experienced something in these halls that they simply can’t explain.
Join me, we’ll journey from the theater’s grand opening in 1818 through fires, hurricanes, and restorations, meeting famous actors (and a few infamous ghosts) along the way. I’ll share historical facts and eyewitness accounts that give the Savannah Theatre its reputation as one of America’s most haunted theaters. Whether you’re a history buff curious about Savannah’s past or a paranormal enthusiast eager for ghostly tales, grab a seat front and center. The curtain is about to rise on a story that intertwines the glitz of show business with the whispers of the otherworldly. Welcome to The Savannah Theatre – where every night might just be opening night for a spirit or two.
Setting the Stage: Construction and Opening Night (1818)
Our story begins on a crisp December evening in 1818. The War of 1812 was a recent memory, James Monroe sat in the White House, and in the bustling port city of Savannah, a brand-new theater prepared to welcome its first audience. On December 4, 1818, the Savannah Theatre opened its doors for the very first time, dazzling the town with a double bill of entertainment: a comedy called “The Soldier’s Daughter” followed by a lighthearted farce, “Raising the Wind.”
Carriages clattered along the square outside as ladies in silk gowns and gentlemen in tailcoats filed into the lobby, abuzz with excitement to see the latest in live entertainment – a true highlight of what to do in Savannah in the early 19th century. The theater itself was a marvel of its time. Designed by William Jay, a respected British architect, the original building was an elegant three-story structure that immediately became a point of pride for the city. Jay was already making his mark on Savannah – within a year of the theater’s construction, he would also complete the Regency-style Telfair Mansion and the Owens-Thomas House, iconic buildings that still stand today.
For the Savannah Theatre, Jay envisioned a grand façade with ornate wrought-iron detailing and tall arched windows that glowed with lamplight on show nights. Inside, the decor was lush and artistic. Jay’s friend, the English artist William Etty, personally painted magnificent murals for the interior. Visitors marveled at the vivid scenes framed by gilded eagles, green wreaths, and rich crimson panels adorning the walls. From the moment you stepped inside, you were transported into a world of glamour and drama – a welcome escape from the everyday.
Local craftsmen lent their talents to the project as well. Master mason Amos Scudder, known for his work on Savannah’s Independent Presbyterian Church, oversaw the theater’s construction with bricks and mortar, ensuring it was as sturdy as it was beautiful. And it needed to be sturdy – live theater in those days meant packed houses, candlelit footlights, and sometimes rowdy audiences. In an era before microphones and modern lighting, performances relied on powerful voices and the warm glow of gas and oil lamps. One can imagine the way those flames would make the painted murals dance in flickering light, casting tall shadows across the excited faces of the crowd.
Yet even a splendid building and an eager opening night audience couldn’t guarantee success. Savannah in the early 1800s was still finding its cultural footing, and running a theater proved to be a challenging venture. The first couple of decades were rough for the Savannah Theatre. Financial troubles struck early; within twenty years of opening, the theater changed ownership numerous times and was even auctioned off twice.
Perhaps management struggled to consistently draw crowds or cover costs – records are sparse on the exact reasons. I sometimes picture those empty-seated nights in the 1820s: the quiet auditorium with only the ghosts of the first night’s laughter remaining, the heavy velvet curtain drawn over a dark stage as yet another manager’s ambitions faded. It’s a poignant contrast to the theater’s later vibrancy, and a reminder that this now-celebrated institution came close to an early demise.
One bright spot arrived in 1838, when a stable stock company of investors took over operations. This new team of proprietors got things organized, giving the venue a much-needed boost. By December of that year, the Savannah Theatre was incorporated, setting it on a path to profitability and prestige. Soon the once-troubled playhouse began drawing larger audiences. Savannah’s society started to consider the theater the place to see and be seen – a jewel in the city’s social scene. The timing was perfect, too; America was heading into an era of growth and cultural flourishing. In the decades before the Civil War, live theater was one of the main entertainments across the country, and the Savannah Theatre was poised to take full advantage of that trend.
The Spotlight Shines: Golden Years, Famous Faces, and Civil War (1830s–1860s)
By the mid-19th century, the Savannah Theatre had hit its stride. The shaky experimental days of the 1820s were behind it, and the venue blossomed into Georgia’s premier destination for live entertainment. Night after night, the footlights glowed and the seats filled. (If Haunted Savannah is our theme, at this point the only spirits in the theater were those in patrons’ cups during intermission – the atmosphere was lively and full of human energy.)
The theatre’s stage became a magnet for talent, drawing many of the most celebrated performers of the era. Imagine sitting under the chandelier as the legendary Sarah Bernhardt delivered an emotional monologue or laughing along to a comedic routine by the great W.C. Fields. These walls saw it all. Records and local lore tell us that actors and actresses of international renown passed through Savannah and trod these boards, leaving a bit of their star power forever imprinted in the air. Among the luminaries were British Shakespearean actors Ellen Terry and Henry Irving, who famously toured America – in fact, during an 1896 engagement at the Savannah Theatre, their manager Bram Stoker (yes, the future author of Dracula) was said to have accompanied them. One likes to wonder if the gothic ambience of Savannah at night gave Stoker any inspiration as he managed the tour by day and perhaps spun eerie tales by night.
Another renowned name to grace the stage was Oscar Wilde, the witty Irish playwright and poet. Wilde visited the United States in the 1880s and delivered lectures on aesthetics and the arts. Savannah was one stop on that tour, and local tradition claims he appeared at the Savannah Theatre – dazzling the crowd with his sharp tongue and flamboyant style. Whether he performed a piece or simply spoke, having such a figure under this roof added to the theater’s growing legend.
Not only did actors visit, but sometimes other public figures took to that stage as well. On one fateful night in March 1861, the Savannah Theatre hosted a political event that etched its name into the annals of American history. Alexander H. Stephens, who would soon become the Vice President of the Confederate States of America, delivered his infamous “Cornerstone Speech” from the stage of this very theater. With tension between North and South mounting and civil war only weeks away, Stephens addressed a hushed audience and openly declared the Confederacy’s ideology – stating that slavery and the supposed inferiority of African Americans were the “cornerstone” of the new Confederate nation. It was a chilling moment in which a venue normally devoted to art and culture was used as a pulpit for division and discord. Hearing those words ring out in a place of entertainment must have been surreal. As a historian, I often reflect on how that speech, echoing off the ornate theater walls, contrasts with the joy and unity the theater usually brought people. The Civil War erupted shortly after, and Savannah itself would face Union troops by the end of 1864. Yet the theater stood through it all – perhaps hosting benefit shows or morale-boosting performances during the war years (though documentation is scant).
One figure who ties the world of theater to that national conflict is Edwin Booth. Edwin, a prominent Shakespearean actor, performed on the Savannah Theatre’s stage multiple times in the 1850s and 1870s, playing roles like Hamlet and King Lear to great acclaim. Edwin Booth’s connection to this theater is illustrious on its own, but it’s made all the more intriguing by his family ties – Edwin was the older brother of John Wilkes Booth, the actor-turned-assassin who shot President Abraham Lincoln in 1865. There’s no evidence John Wilkes ever performed in Savannah, but rumors persist that he may have visited or even taken an anonymous role alongside his brother on one occasion. It’s one of those tantalizing “what ifs” of history that I mention during our Savannah Ghost Tours: picture John Wilkes Booth, still just a passionate young actor at the time, walking these halls before fate took a darker turn. Did any prophetic chill touch him on his visit? We’ll never know. What we do know is that Edwin Booth’s performances were a highlight of the Savannah stage, and he left an impression so deep that an old playbill bearing his name still hangs in the theatre’s lobby museum today.
By the late 1800s, the Savannah Theatre was not only a cultural hotspot but also a place entwined with the community’s collective memory. Generations had grown up with its shows, from operas and minstrel acts to the latest Victorian melodramas. The laughter, tears, and applause from thousands of performances soaked into the very bricks of the building. Those bricks had already seen more than their share of danger, and tragedies were about to strike – repeatedly – proving that even the grandest theaters are not immune to misfortune.
Trials by Fire and Storm: Disasters Strike (1820s–1900s)
The first hint that the Savannah Theatre might be cursed – or at least extraordinarily unlucky – came not long after it opened. It was a cold night in 1827, just nine years into the theater’s life, when fire struck for the very first time. Gas lamps and open flames were a constant hazard in old theaters, and despite the building’s sturdy construction, something went terribly wrong. As the story goes, a blaze ignited near the stage during a performance. Flames were mercifully contained before the entire building was lost, but not everyone escaped unscathed. Panicked patrons crammed toward the exits while smoke filled the domed ceiling. Amid the chaos, a beloved young actress – whose name has been lost to time but whom we remember now as “Betty” – became trapped underneath the stage, perhaps trying to save costumes or props, or simply disoriented in the smoke.
By the time the fire was doused, a handful of people lay injured or dead. Betty herself tragically perished, overcome by smoke inhalation in the bowels of the theater she so loved. Savannah newspapers reported the calamity somberly, lamenting the loss of life but noting that the damage to the building was not catastrophic. The show would go on – and indeed it did – but a seed was planted in local lore. The Savannah Theatre had claimed its first lives, and whispers of ghosts likely began that very year as surviving actors insisted they could feel Betty’s presence still lingering in the wings.
After repairing the minor fire damage, the theater continued through the mid-19th century prosperously. However, come the late 1800s, Mother Nature decided to test the theater’s resilience in a big way. August 31, 1898 is a date any Savannah historian can recount with a shudder. On that day, a massive hurricane roared into the Georgia coast and pummeled Savannah. It was one of the worst storms in the city’s history up to that time. As gale-force winds tore through downtown and torrential rain swamped the streets, the Savannah Theatre stood directly in harm’s way on Chippewa Square. Buildings trembled, and inside the theatre the mighty gusts ripped the very roof off the structure as easily as peeling the lid off a tin can. Entire sections of roof went flying, exposing the ornate interior to the angry sky. Rain poured into the auditorium, turning it into a sort of indoor pond. Wooden seats and orchestra instruments alike bobbed in the flood. By the time the storm passed, the theater’s beautiful auditorium was a soaked ruin and debris lay everywhere.
Fortunately, the brick walls and foundation held, sparing the building from total collapse. But the damage was extensive – it looked for a moment like the final curtain for the old playhouse. Yet, as anyone who knows Haunted Savannah will tell you, this city doesn’t give up on its treasures easily (especially not one so central to its identity). The theatre was painstakingly repaired after the hurricane. New roofing was installed, the stage and seating restored, and before long the Savannah Theatre opened its doors once again, determined to defy the odds. Locals returned gratefully, eager for a sense of normalcy and communal joy on that stage after such a harrowing disaster. Perhaps it was in those post-hurricane performances that the first jokes about the theater’s “nine lives” were whispered among patrons.
However, if the theater truly had nine lives, fate seemed determined to spend them quickly. Just a few years later, in 1906, the Savannah Theatre once again fell victim to a devastating fire. This time, the blaze was far worse than the small 1827 incident. Flames engulfed significant portions of the building, hungrily devouring the wooden interior and licking up the walls. Savannah’s fire brigade rushed to the scene, horse-drawn engines clattering over the cobblestones of Chippewa Square as firefighters battled through the night. When dawn broke and the smoke cleared, the theater still stood – but it was like a charred skeleton of its former self. The lovely decor and architectural flourishes William Jay had crafted nearly a century earlier were mostly gone or severely damaged.
As part of the renovations after 1906, the decision was made to simplify the exterior. The ornate original façade was replaced with a far more utilitarian brick face. Perhaps it was a cost-saving move, or maybe the architectural fashions of the early 20th century favored a cleaner look. In any case, the grand 1818 look was lost, giving the Savannah Theatre a more modest appearance. Still, the city rallied to rebuild the interior once more, and incredibly, live performances resumed before long. The theater continued to be Savannah’s main venue for plays and musical acts into the new century.
It’s worth noting that by 1916 a new competitor had arisen: the city’s Municipal Auditorium opened on Orleans Square. This modern hall drew some of the big touring acts and events, meaning the old Savannah Theatre had to share its audience. For a time, the historic theater saw smaller crowds and lost its status as the area’s primary entertainment hub. It might have seemed that its heyday was over as the 20th century progressed – but this resilient playhouse wasn’t finished with its drama, not by a long shot. In fact, one of its greatest transformations was just around the corner, born from yet another catastrophe that would add fuel to its haunted reputation.
The 1948 Inferno and the Curse of the Lucky Penny
The mid-20th century brought new challenges and one fiery disaster that locals still talk about with a mix of sadness and goosebumps. By the 1940s, the Savannah Theatre had endured multiple fires and a hurricane, but time had otherwise been kind. The venue continued operating, hosting everything from vaudeville shows to film screenings, adapting with the times. World War II came and went, and Savannah, like the rest of the country, looked forward to peace and normalcy. But in October 1948, just when things seemed calm, the theatre’s luck ran out again in spectacular fashion.
Late one night that month, a fire ignited inside the theater – some say it started in a projection booth or backstage, but accounts vary. What is certain is that this blaze was ferocious and swift. Flames quickly spread through the auditorium, devouring the stage, seats, and draperies that had only recently been replaced after earlier renovations. The sky above Chippewa Square turned an eerie orange as smoke billowed out of the theater’s roof. Long-time Savannah residents looked on in horror; many had grown up attending shows here, and to see their beloved theatre in flames was like watching a dear friend in peril. The fire department fought tirelessly, but the inferno had gained too much headway by the time help arrived. When the conflagration was finally doused, the Savannah Theatre was a smoldering ruin – its interior gutted, its heart seemingly turned to ash. Only the brick walls and a few charred structural elements survived the inferno.
Miraculously, as far as records tell, there was no audience in the building when the 1948 fire broke out (it likely started after hours). But that doesn’t mean no life was lost. There are whispers that perhaps a caretaker or watchman might have been inside, or someone rushing in to salvage something, and that they succumbed to smoke or injury – though no official documents confirm a death. Still, one death we often speak of in connection to the theater’s fires is that of a boy named Ben (we’ll meet his ghost soon). Some versions of the story say he was in the balcony during a fire – possibly this very one in 1948 – and in the rush to escape he was trampled by the panicked crowd. Whether Ben’s tragedy occurred in 1948 or an earlier incident, his spirit is tied to the story of the theater’s misfortunes.
In the aftermath of the 1948 blaze, an eerie explanation for the disaster began to circulate – one that involved a simple penny and a supposed curse. Savannah is a city steeped in superstition, and the theatre had already seen an uncanny amount of bad luck. After the ashes cooled, a story emerged to explain why the 1948 fire had been so devastating. It begins back at the theater’s construction in 1818. The legend goes that one of the construction workers – perhaps for good luck – sealed a penny from 1818 inside a wall of the new building. This penny stayed hidden for over a century, silently witnessing all the dramas played out on stage and all the disasters weathered off-stage.
Fast forward to the 1940s: during a renovation, workers discovered the old coin tucked in the wall. Realizing it dated to 1818, the theater’s then-owner, a man named Fred Weis, decided to carry it as a lucky charm. After all, the Savannah Theatre had survived war, storms, and fire – maybe this little coin had been a guardian of sorts. Fred reportedly kept the penny with him at all times, believing it protected the theater. But in 1948, Fred took a trip to New York City, and upon arriving, realized to his horror that he’d somehow lost the penny – perhaps it slipped from his pocket or was left on a nightstand. In that moment of panic, he must have wondered if he’d just doomed his beloved theater. Sure enough, almost immediately after the penny went missing, the Savannah Theatre caught fire and nearly burned to the ground.
The story of the lost penny and the “curse” of 1948 became one of Savannah’s enduring ghost legends. Was it mere coincidence? Or had removing that penny broken a spell of protection? Some say the penny had indeed kept calamity at bay, and losing it unleashed the fire that had been waiting to consume the theatre. Others claim the act of hiding the penny in 1818 was actually a curse itself, one that needed the coin to remain in place – and by carrying it away, Fred unwittingly triggered the curse. It’s the kind of tale that is impossible to prove but hard to ignore, especially in a town that loves a good yarn. As a researcher, I’ve hunted through newspaper archives for any mention of Fred’s coin and spoken with old-timers who heard the tale from their parents. Whether wholly true or embellished over time, the lucky penny story adds a classic twist to the theatre’s lore, making the 1948 fire more than just an accident in the eyes of storytellers.
After the devastation of 1948, Savannah once again rebuilt its cherished theater. This time, the reconstruction embraced the style of the era. When the theatre rose from the ashes, it did so with a brand-new look: a sleek, modern Art Deco façade complete with bold geometric lines and a brilliant neon marquee that still lights up Chippewa Square today. By October 1950, the Savannah Theatre reopened, now reinvented as a movie house reflecting America’s mid-century love affair with cinema. Its first screening was Mister 880 (sometimes called Mister Eighty-Eight) starring Burt Lancaster and Dorothy McGuire. People who entered the lobby that day saw a very different interior – updated and modern, with plush new seats and state-of-the-art (for the time) projection equipment. The building had survived, transformed once again by necessity and innovation.
The 1950s and the decades that followed saw the Savannah Theatre operating primarily as a cinema. Countless movies flickered across its screen – from classic black-and-white films to Technicolor epics and later even blockbusters of the ‘80s and ‘90s. But the ghosts of its stage days were never truly gone. Live performances did occasionally return; local theater troupes might put on a play, or special events would use the space. And the theater had one more brush with stardom in the 20th century: in the fall of 1993, it served as a base for the production of the film Forrest Gump. The movie’s famous bench scenes were filmed just outside in Chippewa Square, and the Savannah Theatre was rented by Paramount Pictures to be the wardrobe and makeup headquarters for Tom Hanks and the other actors and extras. So even while facilitating Hollywood magic, the old theater found a way to be part of the action.
By the end of the 20th century, the Savannah Theatre was heralded as one of the oldest continually operating theaters in America – a survivor that had managed to keep its doors open in one form or another for nearly two centuries. However, one thing remained to bring the story full circle: returning the venue to its roots as a live performance house. And so, in the early 2000s, that’s exactly what happened. A restoration in 2002 installed modern lighting and sound systems while retaining the 1940s Art Deco charm. The Savannah Theatre began hosting live stage shows again, much to the delight of locals and visitors. A talented resident company now performs musical revues, comedies, and plays throughout the year, breathing the energy of live entertainment back into the space. In the lobby, museum-style displays showcase memorabilia from across the theatre’s history, from old playbills and photos to pieces of charred wood said to be salvaged from the 1906 and 1948 fires.
Now that we’ve journeyed through the highs and lows of the Savannah Theatre’s timeline, it’s time to dim the lights and introduce the resident ghosts who, according to legend, still call this theater home. After all, with two centuries of memories – including tragic accidents, untimely deaths, and even a possible curse – is it any wonder people believe the Savannah Theatre is haunted? Let’s meet the phantoms of the footlights that make this place a centerpiece of Haunted Savannah Tours and ghost stories alike.
Ghosts of The Savannah Theatre: Legends in the Limelight
Every old theater has its ghost stories, and the Savannah Theatre might have more than its fair share. Over the years, whispers of apparitions and inexplicable happenings have become part of the theatre’s identity just as much as its brick and mortar. In fact, as I often tell guests on my Haunted Savannah Tours, if walls could talk, the ones here would probably be singing – accompanied by a ghostly chorus. The spirits said to linger in this playhouse are often described as performers and patrons who just couldn’t give up the spotlight, even in the afterlife. Whether you’re a skeptic or a believer, these tales are an irresistible part of what makes visiting this theater one of those unforgettable experiences in Haunted Savannah.
Betty – The Lady in the Long White Dress
The most frequently mentioned ghost of the Savannah Theatre is lovingly known as Betty. By now, you know her origin story: an actress who tragically died during the fire of 1827, likely the first person to lose her life within these walls. Over the many decades since, Betty has not been forgotten – in fact, it seems she made sure of that herself by sticking around. She is often described as a woman in a long, flowing 19th-century dress, seen just out of the corner of one’s eye backstage or in the wings.
Cast members and staff have reported uncanny encounters with Betty, especially on nights when the auditorium is dark and quiet. One recurring theme is that she appears on opening nights of new productions, as if the surge of excitement and energy draws her out. Actors rehearsing on stage sometimes see a faint figure standing behind the heavy velvet curtain, watching them. More than one performer has sworn they glimpsed a woman in period costume peeking from just offstage – only to blink and find no one there.
On a few occasions, people have even claimed a full-bodied apparition of Betty. One former stage manager told me a story about locking up after a late rehearsal. As he did his final walkthrough of the dark stage, he saw a pale woman in a white gown standing near the footlights. His first thought was that a cast member had stayed behind or someone was pulling a prank. But when he called out and walked closer, the figure simply faded away into the shadows. “I won’t lie,” he admitted with a chuckle, “I left the auditorium pretty fast after that!”
Betty’s presence isn’t limited to visual sightings. People often describe feeling a sudden cold spot in an otherwise warm room – a chill that raises the hair on your arms, which many interpret as a ghost passing by. There are also reports of unexplained perfume wafting through the air. It’s a distinctly old-fashioned floral scent, noticed backstage or even among the front rows when no one else is around. Some say it’s the very perfume Betty wore in life, still announcing her ethereal entrances.
From a paranormal investigator’s perspective, Betty is a classic “residual” spirit with a strong attachment to the theater. She loved the stage in life, and lore holds that she never realized (or never accepted) that her final curtain had fallen. So she continues to appear, eternally ready for one more performance. On our tours, I often end Betty’s story on a poignant note: a talented young woman whose life was cut short, yet her passion for acting was so strong that not even death could dim her desire to be in the spotlight. More than a few tour-goers have confessed they felt a shiver just then – as if someone unseen were standing right behind them, listening in as I tell Betty’s tale.
Ben – The Mischievous Boy in the Balcony
High up in the dark recesses of the balcony lurks another resident ghost – a playful spirit known as Ben. Ben is believed to be the ghost of a young boy, and while accounts vary, the prevailing story is that he died during one of the theater’s fires, likely the devastating blaze of 1948. The tale goes that Ben was in the upper balcony when the fire broke out. As everyone rushed to escape, confusion and panic took over. In the chaos, poor Ben became separated from his parents and was caught in the crush of people trying to get out through a narrow exit. He was either overcome by smoke or, tragically, trampled by the frantic crowd.
Whether or not this exact history is true, those who have encountered Ben’s spirit agree on one thing: he’s a bit of a prankster. Unlike Betty’s more passive, solemn haunting, Ben seems to have a mischievous streak that shows up in very tangible ways. The most famous manifestations occur in the spotlight booth and the balcony seating area. Technicians working the spotlight – located high at the back of the theater – often feel as if someone is standing right behind them, tugging gently on their shirt or hair. House managers have grown accustomed to the phenomenon. One former manager, a woman named Dru who became the theater’s unofficial “ghost liaison,” recounts the countless times she experienced this. During shows, she’d feel a little yank on her blouse, as if a child were trying to get her attention. She knew no living child could be up there in the restricted tech area, and soon she realized it was Ben wanting to play. Whenever the invisible tug came, she’d turn and gently scold, “Not now, Ben, I’m busy.” And just like a reprimanded kid, the tugging would stop – at least for the rest of that night. (Dru even shared her story on a TV program about ghost encounters, putting Ben in the national spotlight, so to speak.)
Audience members have also felt Ben’s presence. People sitting in the balcony during quiet moments of a performance sometimes report the distinct sensation of a small hand touching their hair or poking their shoulder, only to turn around and find nobody in the row behind them. A few have heard a child’s giggle echo faintly from above when no children were present. On one paranormal investigation I participated in, we decided to bring a small toy – a rubber ball – and left it on the balcony floor as a sort of invitation for Ben. While our backs were turned, that ball inexplicably started to roll along the aisle, as if kicked by an unseen foot. We retrieved it, tried placing it still, but each time we looked away, it moved just a bit. Was it gravity on an uneven floor? Or Ben amusing himself? Moments like that can make even a seasoned investigator’s hair stand on end.
Ben’s antics are ultimately harmless, and many who work at the theater have come to find them endearing. It’s as if the Savannah Theatre, with all its life and energy, is a giant playground for this perennially young spirit. He “helps” the spotlight operators (perhaps dreaming of being a stagehand) and teases patrons just for a laugh. Sometimes equipment will act up with no explanation – lights flicker or the sound system will pop – and the staff will half-jokingly blame Ben’s pranks.
The Director – The Phantom in the Wings
If Betty is the heart of the theater’s ghostly troupe and Ben is the funny bone, the third main spirit is certainly the guiding hand. We call him The Director, and he’s believed to be the ghost of a former theater director or stage manager who spent much of his life behind the scenes here. Some staff have nicknamed him George, though the true identity is uncertain. According to one account, years ago after repeated strange occurrences, the staff did some research and found that an early 20th-century director indeed died of a heart attack in the theater, possibly during a particularly stressful rehearsal. Whether or not that’s our man, the persona fits: a dedicated soul who loved the craft so much that even death didn’t cue his exit.
The Director’s ghost is most famously known for making himself heard rather than seen. Actors and stage crew rehearsing have often reported the unnerving sensation that someone else is in the theater, watching and critiquing. Frequently, they’ll hear an unseen audience member in the otherwise empty house. Sometimes it’s the unmistakable sound of a slow, solitary clap coming from the back of the auditorium, as if someone is delivering a very deliberate “bravo.” Other times, it’s a disembodied voice of a man interjecting with a comment or exclamation. One actress recounted how during a quiet pause in a scene, she and her scene partner heard a clear, deep voice from above boom, “Bravo!” They stopped, startled – it was definitely not any of the crew. Peering into the seats, they saw no one. On another occasion, stagehands preparing a set in between scenes heard what sounded like someone giving instructions – a male voice muttering about “timing” and “lights” – but there was no director present in the house at the time. The crew came to half-joke that their phantom director was still trying to run the show, and perhaps didn’t always approve of the way things were going.
Over time, a pattern became clear: The Director’s voice was often heard emanating from a particular spot in the balcony – an upper corner near an old exit door. That spot, notably, is out of the performers’ line of sight due to the lighting angles, so someone could conceivably sit there unnoticed from the stage. After enough incidents, the theater team actually started double-checking that very door and seat, suspecting an enthusiastic trespasser might be sneaking in. They never found a living culprit. Eventually, the staff accepted that they had a resident director who wasn’t going anywhere. Once they learned about the historical director’s death, the nickname “George” stuck (that supposedly was his name). So now, when strange comments echo or when a random “Encore!” rings out from the emptiness, they just smile and say, “Oh, that’s George chiming in.”
.When I speak of the Director on tours or in writing, I can’t help but have a bit of respect – even empathy – for this spirit. Think of the dedication: a man so invested in his craft that not even death can stop him from attending rehearsals! There’s something almost endearing about it, in a spooky way. Theaters around the world have similar legends of phantom audience members or long-dead directors who still give their blessings (or critiques) from beyond. The Savannah Theatre is no exception. Our phantom Director ensures that even when the house is empty, someone is still watching the show and minding the details.
Other Ghostly Guests and Encounters
Beyond the three headliners – Betty, Ben, and the Director – the Savannah Theatre has a reputation for a variety of paranormal occurrences that can’t always be so neatly identified. Over 200 years, who knows how many souls have wandered its aisles? Some theater staff and visitors talk about the presence of a little girl spirit, for instance. She’s not seen often, but a few people have described a small figure in a dress moving quietly in the shadows backstage. No one has a solid story for who this child might be – she remains an enigma, a fleeting presence that vanishes when you try to focus on her.
Another subtle haunt involves phantom music. Janitors cleaning up late at night have occasionally heard the faint melody of a piano or the distant notes of a singing voice when the stage is empty. It’s as if an invisible rehearsal is taking place. When they stop to listen more closely, the sounds fade away. It happens rarely, but enough that a few long-time staff members shrug it off as the resident ghosts “practicing their solos.”
One of the earliest recorded ghostly encounters in the theater actually comes from a newspaper report in 1895. The Savannah Morning News ran a story claiming that local police officers on night patrol repeatedly heard what sounded like a full audience inside the theater in the wee hours – laughter, clapping, and the muffled din of a lively show in progress. Each time, thinking vagrants or trespassers had snuck in to put on an unauthorized performance, the officers would investigate. They’d unlock the doors, peer with lanterns into the pitch-black hall… and find it utterly empty and silent, with not a single living soul. This happened often enough that eventually the police simply noted the incidents in their logbooks and stopped chasing phantom applause. Imagine that – over 125 years ago, Savannah’s policemen were essentially throwing up their hands and saying, “Yep, that old theater is haunted, all right.”
The theater’s dressing rooms have also been the site of some legendary paranormal events. In one incident (also from the late 19th century), the theater owner unlocked the building one morning to start the day’s preparations and was greeted with a perplexing sight. In one of the dressing rooms, a large, perfectly round hole had been burnt right through the middle of the floor. It was as if a small fire had ignited and then extinguished itself after burning only in that one circular spot. Nothing else in the room was touched – costumes on their racks were fine, the mirrors and vanities undamaged. It was a mystery with no logical explanation. Some wondered if an electrical fault could do that, but in the gaslight era, there were no wiring or electric outlets in the floor. Others whispered that perhaps it was a ghostly attempt at starting a fire – maybe Betty herself, reliving that tragic night, or some other restless spirit. Regardless, the eerie burn mark made believers out of many who saw it.
The dressing room was also the scene of another infamous event. Once, before a big show in the early 20th century, a group of chorus girls was in there getting into costume. Amidst the laughter and bustle of putting on their outfits and makeup, one by one the girls began to feel a chilling sensation that something was off. The jovial mood evaporated. A couple of the dancers later described it as a sudden oppressive feeling, as though an unseen, malevolent gaze was fixed on them from a dark corner of the room. Without warning, one dancer screamed and bolted out into the hallway. That was all it took to send the others racing after her in a panic – some half-dressed, others with their hair still only partly pinned up. They fled the dressing area and refused to go back for their things. Stagehands had to retrieve the forgotten shoes and costume pieces. By all accounts, the women were genuinely terrified. What did they sense in that room? They couldn’t say, only that it felt “evil.” The incident became a juicy story in theater circles (and no doubt an unexpected spectacle for a few early-arriving audience members who witnessed a parade of frantic dancers spilling out into the wings).
In more recent times, the Savannah Theatre has embraced its haunted reputation by allowing paranormal investigators and hosting late-night ghost encounters for curious souls. I’ve participated in some of these investigations, and let me tell you, the silence of an empty theater at 2 AM is heavy with potential. On one such night, a fellow investigator and I set up an audio recorder on the stage and left it running while we took a break outside (sometimes it’s thought that ghosts are shy and prefer to act when nobody’s watching). When we played back the recording later, we caught something intriguing: amidst the quiet, there was a brief moment where a voice – faint and whispery – seemed to say, “I’m here.” It was too unclear to definitively claim as proof, but it gave us chills. On another occasion, we had a video camera pointed toward the seats and a few motion sensors set up. We were hoping to catch any movement. We didn’t see much on the footage, except at one point a motion sensor light went on in a row where no one was sitting. And at the same moment, the camera’s audio picked up a soft sigh. These little bits of possible evidence, while not conclusive on their own, add to the cumulative experience that the Savannah Theatre has a vibe that can’t be explained away by just old building noises.
From random cold breezes in closed rooms to doors that seem to lock and unlock on their own, the anecdotes keep accumulating. One thing I find comforting, though, is that the ghosts of the Savannah Theatre – active as they may be – don’t seem to wish anyone harm. If anything, they feel like a part of the place, woven into its fabric. They scare and startle, yes, but mainly they remind us that this theater has seen a lot and perhaps has some consciousness of its own. Betty brings a sense of dedication and drama, Ben brings humor and childlike wonder, and the Director brings discipline (and a little bit of sass). Together, they make the Savannah Theatre not just a historical landmark, but a living legend in the truest sense.
The Curtain Falls
Sometimes on my tours, I’ll conclude our stop outside the theater by inviting everyone to take a moment and simply look at it. Under the draping Spanish moss of Chippewa Square, with the neon letters of the marquee glowing, the building seems to pulsate with life unseen. I encourage people to peer up at the dark windows of the top floor or into the slightly ajar doorway and just absorb the atmosphere. Do they feel a slight electric charge in the air? Does a shadow in the balcony seem to move a bit? It’s amazing how many will nervously laugh and admit, yes, they feel something.
Ultimately, the Savannah Theatre remains what it has always been: a place of entertainment and community, where stories are told and memories are made – only now some of those storytellers and audience members happen to be ghosts. It encapsulates the duality of Savannah: a city where beauty and decay, celebration and mystery, walk hand in hand. The next time the curtain rises at this old theater, take a good look beyond the footlights. Perhaps, just out of the spotlight’s glare, you’ll see a lady in a bygone costume, smiling as she finally hears the applause she lived and died for. Or a little boy perched in the balcony, swinging his legs as he watches the action below with eternal wonder. Or maybe you’ll sense an unseen director in the wings, arms folded with pride, content that the show will indeed go on.