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Real Florida
He's a water skiing pioneer, a sex symbol and still seeking thrills as he turns 88. Says ''Banana George'' Blair: ''In my mind, I'm only 28.''
By JEFF KLINKENBERG, Times Staff Writer
© St. Petersburg Times, published January 20, 2003
WINTER HAVEN -- George Blair, who celebrates his 88th birthday Wednesday, has a sinewy body, wispy white hair and watery blue eyes. When he climbs out of a chair, joints creaking, it's painful to witness.
But watch when he and his wife, JoAnne, take their boat out on Lake Florence. He slips over the side, grabs the rope and gives a nod. She guns the engine, and suddenly he is flying across the water on the soles of his size 91/2 feet. If there are spectators -- nobody loves an audience more than George -- he winks up a storm and gives thumbs-up signs by the dozens and whoops "Oooooooo yea!" every minute or so.
If he is feeling especially feisty, he might transfer the ski rope from hand to jaw. It is almost impossible to shut him up, but when a boat is towing him by the teeth, he has no choice.
Later he will talk your ear off.
"My body may look like 88," he tells people. "But in my mind I'm only 28."
Blair is famous for a lot of things, which will be discussed later, but he is best known for water skiing in bare feet. Tip toe through the Guinness Book of World Records and you'll see entries in his name. Among other things, he is the oldest person to ski in bare feet and holds the record -- not that there's competition -- for barefoot skiing on the most continents.
In 1985, when he was 71, he conquered Continent No. 7, Antarctica, and is pleased to display the captain's log: "Today we saw our first iceberg," wrote the captain, "and saw our first humpback whale. Mr. George Blair performed his barefoot waterskiing along the beach."
"What I remember is the cold," Blair says. "I was dressed like an Eskimo and was wearing special gloves. But the water was 28 degrees, and I thought I was going to freeze to death."
Last summer he won a little more notoriety when Sports Illustrated for Women put him in its annual swimsuit issue. There he was, strutting his stuff like a brazen Charles Atlas, dressed in a skimpy bikini. No wonder the magazine described him as one of the world's sexiest men. "I had never thought of myself as one of the world's sexiest men," he says. "But I like it."
Death is nobody's and everybody's favorite subject. Turn to the page in the newspaper and read the obituaries. The average man passes away in his early 70s. Women are longer-lived. Of course, there are exceptions. Some folks last longer and stay active until the very end. Blair has known a few. One of his favorite guys, a friend who did triathlons well into his 80s, dropped dead of a stroke while cycling.
"Hope that doesn't mean I'll have a stroke," he says and changes the subject.
Better to talk of life. He is so flamboyant, his middle name should be Ham. One of his nicknames is "Barefoot."
"God made the human foot," Banana tells people, "so we could go barefoot."
He hates shoes. The sign above his garage door makes it clear enough. "Barefoot," the wood sign declares. The sign could use an exclamation point. He has to wear shoes from time to time, because he is a grownup and occasionally must attend a funeral; an 88-year-old man tends to outlive friends. But inside those shoes, his feet squirm and sweat and plot their escape. When he is happiest, Blair and his naked tootsies are skimming across the surface of a lake at 40 mph.
His other nickname is "Banana." He often refers to himself as the Barefoot'n Banana or Banana George. It's his shtick, but it also describes a personality that is bright and colorful.
He drives a banana yellow Mercury Mark VIII and bounces across his lake in a banana yellow speedboat. Rooms in his house tend to be painted yellow. The clothes in his bedroom closet are yellow. If it's bright outside, he wears yellow sunglasses. Call him and he scoops up a yellow telephone.
He eats more bananas than King Kong. Because he is famous, the Chiquita company sends him free bananas by the ton. He hands them out like business cards.
"I have always loved bananas," he says. "Bananas have potassium and vitamins B6 and B12. I have always thought you are what you eat."
He and JoAnne enjoy dinner parties. Oh, they'll serve chicken and fish and other protein if they must. But he is a fruit and vegetable man. "You know what I hate to see?" he asks, bolting down a strawberry. "I hate to see somebody drinking a sugary cola or eating something with white flour. Yuck. Everything should be whole wheat. I drink more plain water than any man in history. I'm really obnoxious about food. I think I'm right and everybody else is wrong."
Self-esteem never has been a problem. He was born in Ohio in 1915, graduated from Miami University and made a fortune in real estate, banking and baby photography. A millionaire, he and JoAnne have homes in Winter Haven, Manhattan, Paris and Steamboat Springs, Colo.
Phone rings. It's a guy from Steamboat Springs talking about an upcoming visit by Banana, who hopes to do some snowboarding while there. He'll be wearing a yellow ski suit and attracting attention. When Banana hangs up, he finishes with another Bananaism. "Ski you later," he says.
Where was he? Oh, the story of his life. How he made a living.
He seldom brags about his business acumen, but about health he is hardly humble. Nor is anyone else who knows him well.
"George is one of the healthiest people I have ever treated," says his physician, Robin Baker of Winter Haven. "Notice I'm not saying the healthiest 88-year-old. He'd be healthy for someone in his 20s or 30s. It's all in the exercise, healthy eating and a positive attitude."
Last year when he visited Dallas for his annual checkup with Kenneth Cooper, who is also President Bush's doctor, Banana wowed everybody at the clinic. Banana's blood pressure was an excellent 120 over 70. His total cholesterol was 170, 30 points better than what is considered good. His body fat, at a time when obesity is considered an American plague, was a skinny 13.6 percent.
"In a way, he's a pioneer," says Baker. "A lot of our attitudes about aging in America are cultural. People reach a certain age and automatically start thinking about slowing down. He never thought that way. He is showing us what is actually possible."
Banana collects paintings, tapestries and statues of the god Mercury. They're in every room in his house. "I relate to Mercury," he says. "He was fast of foot. And so am I."
Long before George Blair was known as Banana -- decades ago, when he was in his 20s -- he was not the healthy specimen he is today. He tried to stay active, but he suffered from a bad back. It was a congenital problem, scoliosis, made worse by an unfortunate episode in 1934.
"During a college break, for the fun of it I rode across the country on the rails," he says. "Some hobos tried to steal my beans. I wouldn't give up my beans, and they threw me out of the boxcar. It really hurt."
He tried to stay in shape.
"When my kids were small, I'd jump over them on ice skates. But you know what? I was miserable. Hurt all the time. Felt like an old man."
He submitted to surgery, spinal fusion, when he was 39. His doctor suggested he take up swimming. He couldn't swim and still hates to be in the water without a flotation vest. "I sink like a stone. No buoyancy." He went to Fort Lauderdale for a vacation. Sitting near the Intracoastal Waterway, he watched an armada of skiers fly past. At a ski school, an instructor said, "If you can walk, you can ski."
"You got to be kidding," George said. "I'm in a back brace!"
"Give it a try."
He was skiing in minutes. When he returned to his New Jersey home, feeling like a new man, he trailered a boat. Eventually he opened a ski school. Six years later, he learned to ski on bare feet. On a vacation to Winter Haven when he was 50, he visited Cypress Gardens, the tourist attraction where skiing plays a major part of shows. Soon he was bowing to applause.
He seldom performs these days, but he lives only a mile from Cypress Gardens and still shows up when he wants to demonstrate what a barefoot old man can do. At the nearby American Water Ski Hall of Fame in Polk City, a life-size statue of Banana greets visitors. He's skiing on one bare foot.
"Nothing in the world is like skiing barefoot," he says. "The first time I ever did it, I felt exhilarated, and I still do. I can teach anyone how in an hour. I am the world's best ski instructor."
Outside his sprawling two-story house, the grass is brown from the morning frost. He walks to the boat house and dips a thermometer into the lake. About 60. Very cold. Otherwise, he'd go skiing. Everybody would go skiing. If a guest has never skied, be warned. He will insist on a lesson. After he teaches basic water skiing, he enjoys teaching a visitor how to ski in bare feet.
"You won't escape," JoAnne says. She has seen what happens many times.
First, he has a pupil stand the old-fashioned way, on wood skis. Then he speeds up the boat -- 35 mph or so -- and instructs the student to shuck one ski. Then he says to put your weight on the bare foot. But not too much. Too much and your foot will dig in and you'll suffer a painful somersault.
"Only Christ could actually walk on the water," he likes to say. "Humans have to ski."
Okay. Let's say his student has mastered the art of staying upright on one ski and one bare foot. Now it is time to go for broke. He stops the boat. Orders the student to get rid of the other ski. He says to crouch in the water. When you get going, he says, keep your head up, back straight and gradually stand. Okay. Okay. Got that?
He guns the engine.
Keep your knees bent, he will shout, but straighten up, inch by inch. Don't think too much! Don't look down! You're doing it! Yes, your soles burn. Yes, your thighs hurt. But you're barefootin'.
Isn't it worth it?
"Why couldn't you teach me how to ski barefoot if it's so easy?" asks JoAnne, who is several decades younger than her husband.
"Because you were the worst pupil in history," he says, grinning.
Three decades ago, before they met, she tried water skiing. She was awful. She decided that a lesson or two would help. George Blair gave her a lesson at his New Jersey school. After the lesson, he suggested that they have a snack. In the annals of pickup lines, his was among the most original in history.
"Let's go across the street," he said. "We'll eat some melon."
They have been married 29 years. One of her jobs is making sure her husband's head never gets too big for his yellow Panama hat. It's a challenge. He has chewed the fat with David Letterman and Regis. The world's sexiest man even chatted with Dr. Ruth, who didn't have to recommend Viagra. He made an HBO movie, Captiva Island, that starred Ernest Borgnine. In the climax, George humiliated the island bully in a water skiing contest.
He has a Web site, bananageorge.com, that Keyshawn Johnson would envy. One Internet link leads to the "What else happened on Banana's Birthday?" page. Other famous people who share George's birthday include Ivan III (The Great), the grand prince of Russia who came into the world in 1440. The Great? Guy probably couldn't even water ski.
Banana George learned to fly an airplane when he was 53. He was 75 the first time he slid down a Steamboat Springs slope on a snowboard and 81 when he drove a race car.
Itching for something new, he jumped out of an airplane the next year. Yes, even a superman needs a parachute. He has a video of the drop. Looking into the camera, wearing a yellow suit, he winks and gives his trademark thumbs-up. He has dozens of videos of other athletic feats. Three years ago, in Denver, he took bull-riding lessons.
"A bull is very tough," he says. "I lasted one second. Lucky I didn't get hurt."
What is the most difficult thing he has done? He has to think. Maybe it's gripping a ski rope by the teeth. "When you start to fall, you have to remember to open your mouth. IMMEDIATELY! Otherwise you'll break your neck, your jaw and lose your teeth. I have only fallen three times, but I chipped teeth every time."
Even more difficult is the stunt known as a "flier." A flier starts on terra firma. Holding the ski rope, he sprints for the water, leaps off a dock, turns upside down in the air and lands on his lower back. In an instant he's up, skiing, on bare feet, as the boat roars away. It's scary even to watch.
The last two times he tried fliers, in 2001, he broke bones in his back. In the worst accident, at a Tampa water skiing show, he misjudged his jump and hit the edge of the dock with his back, fell into the water and sunk to the bottom.
Mortality is not his favorite subject. When he tells the story of his near-drowning, his eyes tear up, and he sobs. He takes a deep breath, recovers and apologizes. Next subject, please.
He is asked if there is anything else he might like to try before his time on Earth is up.
"God, I hope not," says his wife, eavesdropping.
He winks and grins.
"I think I can do anything anybody else can do," he says and looks at his banana-yellow wristwatch. Time flies for a man called Banana.