Tony Clements considers himself a song-and-dance man, except he can neither sing nor dance. But he can entertain. The director of campus recreation at the University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign is an in-demand speaker and comedian who has the ability to make people laugh and to convey a message — the very reason he is in Mattoon, Ill., today preparing to give the keynote speech at the chamber of commerce's annual business exposition.

Clements will speak about implementing change in business. With his speech neatly typed out — the funny parts in red — he is well prepared. A half-hour before his speech, he is driving around Mattoon — site of 11 childhood summer vacations to his grandparents' house — looking for last-minute material to insert into his speech.

"I like to ride around and get a feel, so I can connect with people," he says, sipping on a slushy Pepsi, a treat he allows himself just once a month. Suddenly, Clements points toward a bowling alley.

"I bowled my best game ever at that bowling alley. A 192," he says, as he pulls his car into the parking lot of Mattoon's Cross-County Mall, where he will speak.

Clements drives a black Chrysler LHS. It's big, just like him. It's also black, just like him. The driver's seat — black leather — is situated as far back as possible to allow room for Clements' towering frame to operate in comfort. At 6 feet 3 inches and 275 pounds, he needs a large car. Dressed in black shoes, black pants and black shirt, he lifts his black briefcase and gray sport coat from the back seat.

Although the 55-year-old Clements is a large man, he is not intimidating. He smiles often, infecting others with his deep, warm laugh. His large eyes invite conversation. His bifocals tell people he has collected great stories to share, although his physical appearance gives no indication of his age.

Once Clements makes his way inside the mall, he notices the setup for his speech is not what he had been expecting.

His lectern is positioned on top of a riser at the mall's centermost point. Clements' backdrop consists of a Sunglass Express, Payless Shoe Source, Hallmark card shop and a medical supply retailer. New cars from the Toyota dealership flank Clements on both sides while a person in a furry, spotted cow costume walks aimlessly by. This is not his ideal speaking environment.

It doesn't faze Clements. He knows all about making the best of a difficult situation. One of Clements' favorite memories is the annual Easter egg hunt in his hometown of Raleigh, N.C.

"The families didn't have enough money, so the parents bought a few eggs and just kept hiding the same ones," he says, succumbing to his laughter. "We'd go out to this big park. You've got 42 acres and like, eight eggs. You know, it's getting dark and you've got kids that haven't come back!"

Clements' journey from that park in segregated 1950s Raleigh to the campus of the University was not without missteps, Clements concedes.

He began his education at the University in 1966, where he played basketball his freshman and sophomore years and football his junior and senior years. As a freshman, Clements stumbled academically.

"I majored in sociology, which was ... wrong," he says, the word "wrong" lingering with comic effect after a deliberate pause. "My midterm grades were so bad, my father wrote me a 10-page letter that started, 'Dear Mr. Clements.'"

The Clements' household was a happy one — a place where education, athletics and laughter were important. Raised in the 50s and 60s on the campus of St. Augustine's, a traditionally black college in Raleigh, Clements and his younger sister, Deborah Blanks, developed confidence from an early age.

"Both of our parents were African Americans who went to college and got master's degrees," Blanks says.

Clements' father turned down contract offers from the Harlem Globetrotters and the Green Bay Packers in 1949 and 1951 — the same years Clements and Blanks were born — choosing instead to work as a college basketball coach and athletic director. Clements' mother, a teacher and guidance counselor, had played semiprofessional softball.

"My mother and father were really big on (saying), 'There's no problem too big; no opportunity you can't take advantage of.' It never occurred to me that I wasn't going to do what I was going to do," Clements says.

And do it he did.

The letter from his father steered Clements in a new direction. Upon returning to campus for the spring semester, Clements heeded an adviser's suggestion and enrolled in a recreation class at Huff Gym.

"I took my first class and it was like, 'I've been cured of cancer. This is it. This is what I want to do.' " Clements now runs the same department that granted him his bachelor's and master's degrees almost 40 years ago.

"I've been in the department every day since December of my freshman year," Clements says from his Intramural-Physical Education office. Starting out as an intramural basketball official as an undergraduate, Clements worked his way to the top of the organization in less than 10 years.

"I always wanted to be director (of campus recreation) at the University of Illinois, and my idea was I wanted to get there by the time I was 45," he says. "I'm sitting in my office one day; I'm 29 years old. The director walks into my office and says, 'I'm retiring next month. Why don't you apply for my job?' " With his career on track, Clements found time to develop his other interests, such as public speaking.

Clements begins his Mattoon speech, quickly winning the older 30-member audience with insight on his own aging process.

"I don't have a second wind anymore," he says, theatrically resting his hands on his knees to catch his breath. "I'll have more first wind tomorrow, but no second wind." The crowd warms to Clements. He tells of a study that indicates one of the greatest fears for adults is public speaking, while one of the least feared activities is dying.

"At a funeral, you'd rather be in the coffin than giving the eulogy," he says to laughter that echoes through this unlikely theater.

Clements skillfully rides the laughter, safely landing at his more serious discussion on change. He relates the story of a friend who once gave him an elegant drinking glass as a present, only to learn two years later he had been drinking from a flower vase.

"You must be able to learn, unlearn and re-learn," he says.

After his speech ends, about half the audience makes its way toward Clements. He speaks with each person, talking sports, recommending books and reminiscing about summers he spent in Mattoon as a child. An elderly man approaches Clements.

"Are you Tony Clements from Champaign Central?" the man asks. Clements looks at the man with deep interest, and then extends his hand in instant friendship.

"No, that was my father," he says, listening intently as the retired Champaign radio broadcaster relates stories of Clements' father making winning plays for his high school football team nearly 60 years ago.

"He was a pretty good player," the man says.

"Yes, he was," Clements replies, obviously pleased with the thought of his late father's memory.

On the ride back to Champaign, Clements reflects on his performance. The method, as he explains later, is to "keep it light, get 'em relaxed, then, bam! Here's the message. I want to make sure I find a balance between humor and something I want them to come away with.

"There are two things you need to know to be humorous: how to tell a joke or how to get a joke," he says.

This way of thinking has led Clements to some serious success, earned without flash or pomposity, his sister Blanks says.

"Tony could have been in the Mu Alpha Theta (a math honors society) or National Honor Society in high school, but he didn't care about it," Blanks says. "When they gave him his pin, he just gave it back. He's not caught up in fanfare and formality."

That same attitude followed Clements when the University invited him to introduce President Bill Clinton, who spoke to 12,000 people at Assembly Hall in 1998. Escorted by a White House official, Clements made his way to the front of the crowd, enraging reporters who had been jockeying for a good position all night.

"I just went to the front and said, 'I'm with him,' " Clements says, referring to the president. The introduction went perfectly, according to Clements' lifelong friend, Chuck Brock.

"When he introduced President Clinton, Tony was so calm, so natural, so comfortable," Brock says. "I just couldn't believe this was my friend." A friend Brock met more than 30 years ago when he arrived at the University of Illinois from his hometown of Greenville, Miss.

"Tony had this presence. He was just the kind of guy you wanted to be around," Brock says.

Today, Brock, a former blues band promoter, is helping Clements elevate his comedy to a new level.

In February, Clements will host his 14th annual "Clements Comedy Cafe," a comedy and variety show for charity. This year, Clements will move the show to the Virginia Theater in Champaign, an ambitious step forward from the show's usual dinner theater format. Clements doesn't appear nervous. Though he can't sing or dance, Clements loves to perform and hopes for the best.

"If it goes well, it's great," he says. "When it's bad, I still have a job!"