The
Douglas
Experience
On Oglethorpe Avenue, The Douglas rests quietly within Savannah’s historic grid, a peaceful, residential stretch that feels truly local. The nearby blocks are framed by deep porches and well-loved homes, with hidden corners that invite slow, curious wandering. Here, the city’s past and present meet gently, held in a timeless embrace.

“OLD bones. NEW spirit. A story still UNFOLDING.”
Our History
From the Foundation
The Douglas began as a private residence in 1853, built along Oglethorpe Avenue—one of Savannah’s most storied streets, named for the man who mapped the city’s iconic grid. Over the years, it passed through the hands of influential Savannahians, including Captain Henry Blun, a German-born entrepreneur, Confederate officer, and later, one of the city’s most prominent bankers. Blun expanded the house in the late 1800s, adding flourishes that hinted at European influence and Southern permanence.
From there, the property evolved with the city itself: home to a gentlemen’s club in the roaring 1920s, a boarding house known as The Lester House through the Depression era, and post-war apartments filled with returning veterans and long-term residents. For a time, the Girl Scouts used it as an administrative annex—just steps from their founder’s birthplace.
Each chapter added its own texture, but the house never lost its sense of structure—or its sense of self. It quietly withstood wars, economic swings, and cultural shifts, always finding a way to be useful, to be occupied, to be loved. In the 1980s, it became an inn. Today, it is The Douglas: thoughtfully restored, intentionally restrained, and ready to host its next century. The spirit of the city lives in its walls—not preserved, but carried forward.
The home is constructed along Oglethorpe Avenue, in Savannah’s historic grid, during the city’s architectural golden age.
Captain Henry Blun, a prominent Savannah businessman and banker, purchases the property and commissions a major expansion that adds to the home’s scale and character.
The City Progressive Club, a private men’s social club, occupies the property—adding a new chapter of late-night gatherings and low-lit conversation.
The house is renamed The Lester House, operating as a boarding house for travelers and locals alike. The name inspires what will later become the hotel’s restaurant, Lester’s.
Post-WWII, the home was converted into Troy Apartments, offering long-term housing to returning veterans and young families during Savannah’s postwar growth.
The Girl Scouts of the USA take over the building, using it as overflow office space for the Juliette Gordon Low Birthplace next door.
The property is purchased by local attorney Morton Gold, who begins its transformation into a boutique inn.
It opens as The Ballastone Inn, welcoming guests for the first time and marking its shift into hospitality.
Renovation begins to transform the inn into a new vision: one that respects the home’s bones but reimagines the experience entirely.
The Douglas officially opens—offering 16 tailored guest rooms, a private bar, a la carte breakfast, and a quiet return to Savannah’s slower, richer rhythm.
The Douglas expands to include six additional guest rooms and welcomes the debut of Lester’s, the hotel’s restaurant open to the public.
















The Neighborhood
Savannah’s historic district is one of the oldest and most beautifully preserved urban plans in the country—gridded streets anchored by leafy public squares, each one with its own mood, its own rhythm. Designed in 1733 by General James Oglethorpe, the layout was meant to encourage connection, contemplation, and community—and it still does. The blocks here unfold slowly: cobblestone lanes, cast-iron railings, limestone steps softened by centuries of use. Spanish moss drapes overhead like theater curtains, filtering the light and setting the scene.
The neighborhood itself is quiet but never still. Antebellum mansions sit next to weathered row houses and tucked-away gardens, while the occasional church bell or clatter of a carriage breaks the hush. It’s a place that rewards wandering, where history is present but not performative. There’s a sense that things here are kept, not curated—that the beauty isn’t made for visitors, it’s simply never been lost.