Savannah is weird. Not "Portland weird" or "Austin weird," but a deep, humid, gothic kind of strange that sticks to your skin like the damp air off the Savannah River. If you’ve ever walked through Monterey Square at dusk, you’ve felt it. That specific vibe is exactly why the Savannah Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil phenomenon didn't just fade away after the nineties. Most people think John Berendt’s book was just a true-crime story. It wasn’t. It was an autopsy of a city that prefers its secrets buried under layers of Spanish moss and silver polish.
The story is basically local lore now. You have Jim Williams—a high-society antiques dealer who restored half the city—and Danny Hansford, the "walking streak of sex" who ended up dead on the floor of the Mercer House study. Four trials. One dead body. A drag queen named Lady Chablis who stole every scene she was in. It’s a lot to take in.
The Mercer House: More Than Just a Crime Scene
You can’t talk about the Savannah Garden of Good and Evil without talking about that house. Standing on the corner of Bull and Wayne, the Mercer-Wilder House is an architectural flex. It’s imposing. Jim Williams bought it when it was a wreck and turned it into a temple of high culture. But honestly? The house has a vibe that’s a little heavy. Maybe it's because Williams wasn't the first person to die there. A kid named Junior Lombard had a fatal fall there years before the Hansford shooting.
People flock to the tours. They want to see the rug where Danny fell. They want to see the portraits. But what most visitors miss is the sheer isolation Williams lived in despite his wealth. He was an outsider who bought his way into the inside, then found out the door only swings one way. The 1981 shooting of Danny Hansford wasn't just a "did he or didn't he" moment; it was the moment the polished veneer of Savannah high society finally cracked wide open. Williams claimed self-defense. The prosecution claimed cold-blooded murder.
The legal saga lasted eight years. That’s an eternity. Most people forget it took four separate trials to finally get an acquittal in Augusta, far away from the gossipy whispers of the Oglethorpe Club. Williams died just months after his final victory. Some locals say the house finally got its due. Others think he just ran out of luck.
Voodoo, Bonaventure, and the Bird Girl
Let’s get real about the "Garden" part. It’s not a literal garden. It’s the Bonaventure Cemetery. If you haven't been, it’s beautiful in a way that’s slightly terrifying. Massive oaks, crumbling marble, and the feeling that a thousand eyes are on you. This is where Minerva, the voodoo priestess, took Williams to do "work" at the graveyard.
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Minerva wasn't a character made up for a screenplay. She was real. Her name was Valerie Boles, and she lived in a small house in Beaufort, South Carolina. Berendt’s portrayal of her wasn't just for atmospheric flavor; it reflected a very real, very deep-rooted Gullah-Geechee influence on Savannah’s spiritual landscape. She spoke of "dead time"—that window between midnight and roughly 1:00 AM where the living and the dead can negotiate.
Then there’s the Bird Girl statue.
Originally, she sat quietly in Bonaventure, a bronze figure holding two bowls. After the book cover made her famous, people literally started chipping pieces off the graves nearby. The family that owned the plot had to move her to the Telfair Academy. It’s a shame, really. She was meant to be a symbol of the "scales" of justice or perhaps the balance between life and death. Now, she’s a tourist icon on coffee mugs.
Why Savannah Can't Quit the Book
Walk into any gift shop on Broughton Street. You'll see the book. You'll see the movie posters. For a city that prides itself on "old money" and "discretion," Savannah sure does love selling its dirty laundry.
There’s a tension there.
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The old-guard families—the ones who probably wouldn't invite you to their garden parties—initially hated the book. They felt exposed. Berendt didn't just write about a murder; he wrote about the eccentricities of people like Joe Odom, the perpetual party host who was always three steps ahead of the repo man. He wrote about the Married Woman’s Card Club. He wrote about the stuff you aren't supposed to say out loud.
But then the money started rolling in.
Tourism exploded. People wanted to see the Hamilton-Turner Inn. They wanted to find the bench where the "Clarence Thomas" lookalike sat. Savannah went from a sleepy, decaying Southern relic to a global destination. The city essentially made a deal with the devil: it traded its privacy for a booming economy based on its own mythos.
The Lady Chablis and the Soul of the City
If Jim Williams was the brain of the story, Lady Chablis was the heart. She was a Black trans woman performing at a basement club called The Forge during a time when the South wasn't exactly known for its progressive views. Yet, she became the face of the city.
She was "Grand Empress."
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Her inclusion in the book—and her playing herself in the Clint Eastwood movie—was groundbreaking. She didn't fit the "Old South" narrative, and that was the point. Savannah has always been a place where the fringes of society are tolerated as long as they are entertaining. Chablis was more than entertaining; she was a force of nature. She lived her truth in a town that was built on masks. When she passed away in 2016, it felt like the final chapter of that era had finally closed.
Myths vs. Reality: What You Get Wrong
- The Bench: You can't sit on the "Forrest Gump" bench or the "Midnight" bench in the squares. The Gump bench was a prop (now in a museum), and the book's narrative is more about the atmosphere than a single seat.
- The Timeline: The book reads like it happens over a year. In reality, Berendt spent years drifting in and out of Savannah. The trials dragged on for nearly a decade.
- The "Good and Evil": It’s not a binary. Nobody in the story is purely good or purely evil. Jim Williams was a visionary and a killer. Danny Hansford was a victim and a hot-tempered hustler. The "Garden" is the mess in between.
How to Actually Experience the Savannah Garden of Good and Evil Today
If you’re heading to Savannah to chase these ghosts, don't just buy a bus ticket for a generic tour. You have to be smarter than that.
Start at the Mercer House. It’s still owned by the Williams family. You can go inside, but don't expect them to talk about the murder. They focus on the art and the architecture. It’s a weirdly sterile experience considering the history, but seeing the actual scale of the rooms where the drama went down is worth the admission.
Next, head to Bonaventure Cemetery. Don't just look for the Bird Girl’s empty spot. Look for the Gracie Watson monument. It’s the soul of the place. Spend time under the oaks. If you go at 4:00 PM when the light starts to get long and golden, you’ll understand why Berendt got stuck here for eight years.
Finally, grab a drink at Pink House or The Olde Pink House. It’s not central to the book, but the basement bar—the Planters Tavern—feels exactly like the kind of place where Joe Odom would have been running a tab he couldn't pay. It’s dark, there’s a fireplace, and the ghosts (both literal and metaphorical) feel very close.
Savannah is a city that lives in the past because the past is more interesting than the present. The book didn't create the weirdness; it just gave us a map to find it. Whether you're there for the true crime, the drag queens, or the architecture, you're essentially a guest in Jim Williams' world. Just watch your step.
To get the most out of your visit, avoid the "haunted" pub crawls that focus on jump scares. Instead, book a private walking tour that focuses on the architectural history of the 19th century. This provides the necessary context to understand why Jim Williams' restoration work was so revolutionary for the city. After the tour, visit the Telfair Academy to see the original Bird Girl statue in a climate-controlled environment where you can actually appreciate the craftsmanship without the crowds of a cemetery.