Why George’s Floral Boutique is closing after 50 years in State College — and what it’s leaving behind
For 50 years, George’s Floral Boutique has remained a staple of downtown State College, a place where the owners have witnessed every emotion and event imaginable — from funerals to weddings, engagements to breakups and holidays to everyday occasions.
But, for the first time in half a century, George’s doors will remain closed this Valentine’s Day. The shop that survived six university presidents and a half-dozen recessions is closing for good in a few weeks.
Co-owners Mitch Ballas, 58, and Randy Ammerman, 65, knew this day was coming for more than a year now. But that hasn’t made these last few weeks much easier, especially considering a real-estate developer plans to tear it all down in favor of another student high-rise — another blow to the mom-and-pop atmosphere that once thrived in Happy Valley. George’s will operate as usual through January, before liquidating its inventory for a week or so into February.
“I’ll probably miss the students the most and the long-term customers because, a lot of them, you know their whole life,” Ammerman said.
Added Ballas: “We’ve had a lot of good spots.”
Longtime customers of George’s (482 E. College Ave.) — of which there are many — should know the current owners aren’t being thrown onto the street. Ballas and Ammerman, who bought the business from George Adelwerth in 1991, were fortunate to have previously had a generous landlord, one who essentially gave the pair a lease that lasted ... well ... forever. That meant the new real-estate developer was forced to buy them out with its own generous offer, one that’s allowing the two to retire.
“We’re OK,” Ammerman said. “We’re OK.”
But what they’ll leave behind is a unique shop that started when the average home cost about $28,000 and a gallon of gas cost less than two quarters. George’s earned a reputation for being pricey, but it was also sometimes the only place in town that would carry the highest-graded roses from the center of the rose bush — meaning larger blooms, longer stems and longer-lasting. (In other words, they sold filet mignon while the grocery stores sold hamburger.)
Millions of flowers have flowed through George’s doors. Ballas and Ammerman alone said they’ve served hundreds of weddings and thousands of funerals. But it’s the memories and the people the pair find it the hardest to leave behind.
“In 30 years, we’ve raised a lot of kids, a lot of guys where it’s their first time in here and you could tell, ‘Oh you’re a virgin at this,’” Ammerman said with a rolling laugh. “That’d always put them at ease: ‘We’ll help you through this.’”
They recounted their history with smiles so big they couldn’t be hidden behind face masks. There were the times a desperate man would call after hours, pleading for help — and the two would usually cave, sometimes receiving a call later about how they saved the day. There were times those students with first-time girlfriends would return, years later, to purchase flowers for their weddings. And there were times, on a recent brisk morning, where the two couldn’t stop laughing while recalling some memories.
Once, when Halloween fell on a football Saturday, Ballas donned a wide-brimmed hat and leather jacket and stood in his display window with an electric chainsaw. He didn’t move, playing the role of a statue while hordes of students walked past. Some would stop for a moment to admire the display — and that’s when Ballas might jerk his head or stare. “Oh, there would be screams,” Ballas said with a laugh. “One girl jumped 3 feet into the air: ‘It moved! It moved!’”
The only time the pair laughed harder is when they were asked what they might say if someone told them 30 years ago that this is where they’d be 30 years later. They never thought the shop would become such a large part of their lives; Ballas was an aerospace engineer that couldn’t find work after the Cold War ended and Ammerman was a burned-out nurse who had gone to design school.
After signing the papers to purchase the business in 1991, Ammerman put his head down on a desk and told George he felt sick to his stomach. It wasn’t easy in that early going, even with George sticking around to help “the boys” — as he affectionately called them — for about a year. Some weeks, the two went without groceries so they could pay their staff.
But, as time progressed, and they learned more, things got easier. A year after their purchase, George instead started referring to them as “the men.” A few years later, the two even extended their business by striking a deal with Christopher Radko, a traditional glass-blowing company known for its detailed handcrafted Christmas ornaments, to produce a line of Penn State-inspired ornaments like the Lion Shrine.
Every year, a new Penn State ornament was created and the molds destroyed. That quickly became an alumni favorite and helped change football weekends defined by an empty store to Saturdays filled with customers at the peak of the ornaments’ popularity. They remain in the shop year-round.
“We’ve had people this Christmas season come in and say, ‘You know, we’re gonna miss you, and we just want you to know that you have impacted our lives, and what you have provided us will continue to be appreciated for years to come,’” Ballas said.
George’s was never just about flowers. It wasn’t just about ornaments either. Ballas and Ammerman said it was about the people.
And with “progress” set to eliminate another small business in Happy Valley, those people will have to find another shop that can match flowers to personality — Artsy? Try adding the unusual “bird-of-paradise” flower to a bouquet, they recommend — and another pair willing to answer the phone at 2 a.m. for a forgetful man’s Hail Mary.
But, until those doors close in a few weeks, their work will continue. And they’ll try to savor what they can.
“The best thing is, if you do a delivery, to see a look on the recipient’s face when they get flowers,” Ammerman said. “People would do it every day if they saw. It’s not just their face or their eyes or their smile.”
Said Ballas: “Their whole being just lights up. Especially during this pandemic.”
