HARRY GOVERNICK

George Clement Jr., The Man

I came to this page and found nothing here. I found that very strange.

George's father was a United States Marine who was killed during World War II when a defective hand grenade blew up in his hand. That happened three months after he found out he was the father of his first son, George Jr. His wife, our mother Alberta, was working at the Saint Louis Small Arms Ammunition Plant (SLAAP) as a supervisor, checking .30-caliber ammunition to make sure it didn't leave the country defective.

The irony is staggering.

So George was my half-brother. George's friends used to call me “Little George” in high school. Galvin “Butch” “Bud” Humphreys, also Normandy Class of 1962, was one of those friends.

I met Bud Humphreys when I was 16. He came to our house at 3418 Pine Grove one day, looking for George, and I looked up at this tall gentleman and saw the honor in his face. Later in George's life Bud demonstrated that honor repeatedly. More on that later.

To me, and perhaps to some of you, my brother George, whom my little brother Danny and I called “Buddy,” was somewhat larger than life.

One example: We moved to 11315 Cypress Gardens Court, where I began the first grade at St. Ann's Public Elementary School. At the time, this was almost undeveloped land, and new homes were being built all over the place. Before the settlers came, it was Indian territory.

George was an avid fan of the early settlers of this country. He was especially enamored by mountain men. Every morning before leaving for his school at Pattonville, George would set out into the woods behind our house and set traps for rabbits, squirrels, fox, and anything else he could catch in his steel traps.

He was never disappointed.

One morning, as I was coming out to catch the school bus, I heard a hammering noise. I walked toward the backyard, and I noticed George had nailed a fox up to a telephone pole and was skinning it and cleaning it out. He had plans for the fur. That's all I know about that. 

Although I was somewhat displeased by what I saw, this was my brother, and I also respected his ability to do these things. George was a firm believer that if civilization fell, somebody had to bring in the food. Somebody had to bring in the skins to keep us warm.

Danny and I would dig up arrowheads and an occasional spearhead in the backyard. This was before Interstate Highway 70 was anywhere to be seen.

George took up pole vaulting at Pattonville High and was pretty good at it. He used to practice in the front yard in St. Ann's. He was good, but I don't know how good.

David Grayson lived across the street, catty-corner, and he and George became quick friends. One winter, they dug an underground room in Grayson's backyard. It was eight feet underground and had two rooms with a chimney leading upward to the yard. The chimney served as an escape for the smoke that resulted from cooking potatoes underground there, as well as other things.

They had it all prepared. You could stay there for a week. Nobody would know where you were.

Then, when I was nine, we moved to Bel-Ridge, 3913 Lada. Mom had decided to divorce Dad, so George now lost his second father, Al Governick, my dad—his stepfather.

I don't really know how that affected George, but I know how it affected Danny and me. It wasn't easy. The move to Bel-Ridge Grade School for me was terrible. As a happy kid from a stable family I was the top student at St. Ann's Elementary, and now I went to the bottom of the barrel.

George took a turn toward the Tarzan novels. Therefore, he had to become Tarzan.

In this quest, he did not fail.

From our front porch on Lada, I would watch George climb a giant oak tree that was in the empty lot next to us. When he would reach a certain limb, he would jump six feet to an adjoining limb, grab onto it, swing himself up, and crouch there.

What he was thinking, I don't know.

But soon he had a 1½-inch-thick rope tied to a tall limb at the top of the tree, with which we had a great rope swing built.

Since I completely admired my brother, I wanted to imitate him and began climbing ropes at age 10. It gave me all the strength I would need throughout the later years of my life.

Some of you older alumni might remember that George was quite the ladies' man. He dated some of the most beautiful girls at Normandy High School, marrying one of them. They had a son, Robert.

That whole story is rather tragic, and I would rather not say much about it here.

I joined the Marines at age 18, two weeks after graduation from high school. George later said it should have been him.

I told him his side of the family had already contributed more than enough.

George became a Golden Gloves boxing champion in Saint Louis and trained many young people to become great fighters. He worked as a crane operator for the Operating Engineers Local 513 and later became a business representative for that union.

The way I saw it, he always treated everyone fairly.

In my eyes, my big brother was a hero.

Until I could hold my own, he protected Danny and me from all the bullies. Growing up, I did my best to imitate him in as many ways as I could.

He had friends everywhere, and those who knew him loved him.

So many Normandy graduates moved to and lived at Lake of the Ozarks, Missouri, that I lost count. Bud Humphreys and George Clement were two of them.

In his last two years of life, George suffered two strokes. They were debilitating. His friend "Humphreys", as George always called him, helped him get through those two years, assuming power of attorney. Bud went the extra mile to help my brother.

I was dealing with my own health problems, and I lived quite a ways away from George, moving even farther away before he finally passed.

Life has a strange way of dealing out the cards.

George had a lot of good friends at Lake of the Ozarks. They made his transition from this earth much easier.

For those of you who come to this website to find out about your fellow classmates, I hope that this passage will be of some importance.

Posted on: May 18, 2026 at 4:26 PM

I'm happy to announce that the year I spent writing a book about certain observations I've made since leaving high school has now been published. Details here: https://theatrgroup.com . At Amazon: https://amzn.to/3QFSIVf . Everywhere else: https://books2read.com/theobserverbook .

If you know of any other Normandy alumni in the class of 1966 or 67 or 68 who have written books, please leave a post here. I'm would love to read them. Normandy has helped produce some extremely interesting individuals. On ye Vikings, and Semper Fi to my fellow Marines.

Alan, it seems like every time I go on Facebook, you have a birthday. You must get a lot of presents. I probably missed a few over the years. I don't know. I can't really keep track of my own. But happy birthday, buddy. Glad you made it this long.

Sorry to hear about Joe's passing. We were friends since 1965, and  in 1966 I joined the Marines a month before Joe did. We both shared boot camp  leave at the same time and one thing we did that was a ton of fun was going down to gaslight Square with my older brother George CLEMENT, and with Jack Martorelli and tore up three bars down there. Let it be known that we didn't start it, but we stopped it.  He was a great guy. Although I'm living in New Mexico now I will still miss him. Condolences to his family. 

Posted on: Jul 09, 2025 at 4:33 AM

Happy Birthday, cousin. We're hoping you had a great day. Mine's the 9th.

Posted on: Feb 05, 2025 at 2:35 PM

It’s been about 55 years Wayne, but happy birthday! Many happy returns! Hope you’re doing well and staying out of trouble!

Hi Marsha... happy birthday in 7 days.... I don't come here often, so better early than late... still have that "present" I helped you get way back then when you visited me in CA? Hope you are in good health...

Posted on: Oct 27, 2024 at 5:30 PM

Posted on: Jul 09, 2024 at 4:33 AM

Happy Birthday, Harry!