AMHERST – On a recent midwinter’s day, Joe Crozier sits comfortably in the cozy family room of a home he and his wife, Bonnie, have shared for 30 years.

The one with the sign on the front door that reads, “We interrupt this family for hockey season.’’

“What questions you got for me?’’ Crozier says after shaking hands with a sportswriter from his Rochester past.

At 90 years old, his eyes still twinkle, his smile remains a magnet drawing people in.

Joe Crozier is among the most revered sports figures in Rochester history, a member of the storied Rochester Americans Hall of Fame as a player, coach, general manager and owner.

In the mid-1960s, he won three Calder Cups in a span of four seasons, returned 15 years later to take another Rochester team to the finals, and — after all that — mentored a young John Van Boxmeer to a championship in 1987.

As coach of the Buffalo Sabres during their formative years, he assembled the famed French Connection line and led them to their first playoff berth in 1972-73.

He was behind two Lester Patrick Cup champions in Vancouver.

From Manitoba to Quebec to British Columbia to Alberta to Ontario to a New York state of mind, the affable Crow has roosted in 16 cities (some more than once), rubbing elbows — and ruffling feathers — with the biggest names in the game.

Winning, grinning and helping grow professional hockey over the course of six decades into the multibillion-dollar industry it is today. A feisty, quick-witted mastermind whose motivational high jinks entertained generations of fans and put Rochester and Buffalo on the hockey map.

“I hate to say ‘old-school’ because the term is overused, but he’s a true hockey original," says Larry Quinn, former Sabres president and managing partner, now with the Buffalo Board of Education. “You say the name ‘Joe Crozier’ and people pick up the phone right away. They don’t make them like him anymore."

No, the beloved man in the chair is no ordinary Joe.

And as he celebrates another milestone birthday, parts of his colorful and complex life that are not so well known are being shared by a grateful and proud family.

Joe Crozier is the loving patriarch of five children and 10 grandchildren from two marriages.

He's also the showman who thrived in the public eye but privately struggled with depression.

Who, after a whirlwind period of eight jobs in 13 years, jumped off the coaching carousel so that Bonnie and their young sons, Richard and Gregory, could know the kind of normalcy his first family did not.

The guy who discovered what balance meant.

Who, by staying put, found a new kind of glory as a cherished behind-the-scenes ambassador for the Sabres organization for 25 years, advising owners, coaches, executives — even kids in the ticket office — until age 82.

Who never grew tired of going to the rink.

Rich Crozier, who has followed in his dad's skates as a successful travel and high school hockey coach, says that every single time he takes a team to Rochester, a referee or stranger will see his last name and ask, “Is Joe Crozier your dad?"

“And I say it with pride, ‘Yeah, that’s my dad,'" says Rich, 43, who has won five parochial school state titles with St. Joseph’s Collegiate Institute. “And everybody’s got a story."

Sadly, the one who can’t tell those stories with the ease of a wrist shot is Joe Crozier.

He has fought back from many health challenges in recent years but is now dealing with an accelerating dementia that has made his mind like “file cabinets,’’ his family said.

Thoughts are locked away, only for drawers to mysteriously open when prodded or when least expected.

But others remember Joe Crozier. Family, friends, colleagues, players who loved him like a father and never forgot his life lessons.

“He was a great father and still is to this day,” says Shayne Crozier, 67, of Vancouver, Joe’s oldest son from his first marriage. “He’s not an easy book; there are a lot of layers there.”

As the Crow flies::A hockey timeline of Joe Crozier's incredible career

In Joe and Bonnie Crozier’s home, memorabilia from a lifetime given to the game of hockey abounds.

Three miniature replica Calder Cups rest on a shelf.

A photograph of the French Connection autographed by Gil Perreault, Rene Robert and the late Rick Martin with touching expressions of thanks is displayed on a table.

An artist's rendering of Joe and Punch Imlach, his mentor and tormentor from one of hockey’s most celebrated relationships, hangs on a wall.

A giant stuffed black crow stands watch in a corner.

Joe Crozier is dressed in a dark sweater and dark slacks. His silver hair is neatly combed. And when asked about Rochester and the Amerks, one of those file cabinet drawers flies open.

“Rochester, when we won the Calder Cups, it was a helluva spot, just great, and I loved it there,’’ Crozier says. “Pointing at the banners, I loved that. My town.’’

My town.

It’s an expression Rich and Greg Crozier heard religiously as the mileage, Thruway tolls and years added up while they were living out their own hockey lives.

Rich, an elementary school principal in Buffalo, played college hockey at Hobart.

Gregory, 42, who works in medical technology sales in Rhode Island, played at the University of Michigan, winning two NCAA Division I titles, including 1996 when ex-Amerk and current Sabres GM Jason Botterill was a teammate. Greg had a long AHL career and played one NHL game for Pittsburgh.

“You have to know that my dad absolutely loved Rochester,’’ Rich says. “When we were kids and playing youth hockey, we went to Rochester all the time for games. As we pulled in, or when we passed the sign reading ‘Rochester,’ he’d always say the same thing, ‘Guys, this is my town.'"

He won other titles in Quebec, Vancouver and Kitchener. He gained more fame coaching NHL teams in Buffalo and Toronto.

But it’s a hockey love affair — between fans in Rochester and a coach who cared perhaps too much — that still burns.

Joe Crozier was born in Winnipeg, one of eight children. His father died when he was a teenager. Hockey, played on frozen roads with Sears catalogs for shin pads, became his way out.

He was a star defenseman for the Brandon Wheat Kings for two seasons, marrying — according to family lore — the first girl he met after stepping off the bus in Manitoba, Marjorie Robins.

He turned semi-pro in 1949-50 and soon landed with the Quebec Aces, a storied team in the Quebec Senior Hockey League.

The legendary Jean Beliveau was a teammate for two seasons. Willie O’Ree, the NHL’s first black player, played for Crozier after Crow became player/coach/part owner with Imlach.

As his playing days wound down, Crozier’s acumen for coaching and the business side of hockey became evident.

“I always wanted to be a coach,’’ he says.

He arrived in Rochester in 1963-64 and the timing was perfect.

With Imlach’s four-time Stanley Cup champion Maple Leafs funneling talent, and Crozier’s motivational touches, the Amerks won titles in 1964-65, 1965-66 and 1967-68, with a trip to a fourth final in between.

Stars like Al Arbour, Red Armstrong, Don Cherry, Les Duff, Dick Gamble, Bronco Horvath, Daryl Sly, Jim Pappin, Gerry Cheevers and Bobby Perrault were Rochester sports royalty.

What made those teams so spectacular?

“The way we all liked each other,'' Crow says. "How we did things together and how we did things so well.''

Cherry, 84, a colorful character in his own right who went on to coach the Amerks and Boston Bruins with distinction before his star soared as an analyst on Hockey Night in Canada, says getting picked by Crozier from Leafs camp to come to Rochester was the “biggest break of my life.’’

“We played in four championships in a row and won three,’’ says Cherry, who stayed a decade in Rochester. “We were so good that NHL teams wouldn’t play exhibition games against us.’’

Crozier's superstitious habits were legendary even by hockey standards. He kept lucky beads in his pocket. He wore the same tie or insisted on the same bubble bath if the team was winning.

One routine was coming into the locker room and kicking a plastic garbage can for good luck. One day, the trainer swapped in a garbage can made of steel.

“Joe comes in, kicks the can, and breaks his toe,’’ Cherry says. “He wore a plaid slipper around and we went on a hot streak, 18 straight or something, and he wouldn’t change that slipper.’’

When he won his first Calder Cup, Crozier, then 36, was just a year or two older than some of his stars. But his people skills were sharper than a skate blade. He could assess personalities better than a tarot card reader and became known as a "players coach'' long before the term was popularized.

“Joe had everyone’s number and knew how to motivate people,’’ Cherry says. “We had great clubs, no mistake about it, but a lot of people have great clubs and can’t get the best out of them. Joe, he got the best out of everybody. He was a winner.’’

That was true almost everywhere he went.

After packaging himself and a host of Rochester players as part of a controversial 1968 sale of the Amerks to the Vancouver Canucks, who were in line for NHL expansion, Crozier was behind two Western League championships.

Unfortunately for Crow, his dream of coaching the NHL Canucks in 1970 never materialized after a falling out with new ownership.

Despite the overwhelming support of his players, he was fired with a dozen games to go in his second season and his team leading the standings by 15 points.

Ex-Portland coach Hal Laycoe took the Canucks across the finish line for his third title. But technically, Crozier had won five rings in the span of six years. There was no hotter coach in hockey. And he was out of a job.

It was his first real sour taste of the vagaries of professional sports and the pitfalls of ambition.

“He was very disappointed that Vancouver didn’t hire him for its NHL team,’’ Cherry says. “How could you not want a guy who won five championships in two different leagues? They paid the price for not keeping Joe Crozier.’’

Turns out Vancouver’s loss was Buffalo’s gain.

Being hired in 1971 by old friend Punch Imlach to coach the Cincinnati Swords, the Sabres’ AHL affiliate, soothed Joe Crozier’s Vancouver heartache. But it was a heart attack suffered by Imlach that handed him his first NHL job.

True to Crozier form, it would be memorable and historic.

In 1972-73, his first full season as Buffalo's coach, Crozier placed three French Canadian-born players on the same line. Perreault, Robert and Martin combined for 105 goals, leading the Sabres to a late-season surge that powered them into the playoffs for the first time.

“It popped, like bringing a puzzle together,’’ says Bonnie Crozier as she flips through scrapbooks of newspaper articles she lovingly assembled. “All three were just good, good kids.''

Perreault, the playmaker, could stick handle in a phone booth. Martin, the sniper, could turn startled goaltenders into statues as he blasted pucks past them. And Robert, the most complete player, had blazing speed, a lethal shot and worked hard in the corners.

But beyond their talents, the tarot card reader sensed something.

“Joe had played in Quebec City with Jean Beliveau and the Aces, so I’m sure he knew the French culture, and by putting three French guys together he knew what probably was going to happen,’’ Perreault, 68, says from his home in Victoriaville, Quebec. “We just clicked.’’

Robert, acquired in a trade, was a center, but Crozier put him at right wing.

“I’d ask Joe, ‘What do you want me to do?’" says Robert, 70, speaking from his Punta Gorda, Florida, home. “He said, ‘Just hang back and be a garbage collector.’ Well, the garbage collector got 40 goals.’’

Crozier also instructed Martin where to be, going so far as to spray paint blue dots on the ice in practice, knowing those were the areas Perreault would get him the puck. Martin, who died in 2011 of a heart attack, scored 37 goals that season and 52 each of the next two seasons.

“Joe was a very, very strict coach. He never believed in going easy on us; we never got any days off,” Robert says. “When he was mad, he’d skate us two hours without pucks. But aside from that, he never got out-coached behind the bench. He was always aware of everything, and you always knew where you stood with him. One thing about Joe, he was very, very loyal to his players.”

During those grueling no-puck skates, Crozier would sit in a chair at center ice and sip coffee. Message delivered.

“Joe could be demanding, no question, but I don’t think you win championships and don’t become demanding,’’ Bonnie says. “But he was good to his players and he loved to teach.’’

In the playoffs, Buffalo was pitted against one of the greatest Montreal teams ever. The Canadiens, led by 11 future Hockey Hall of Famers, had lost just 10 games all year. When they raced to a 3-0 series lead, everyone assumed the Sabres’ fate was sealed.

But Crozier, the NHL's coach of the year, willed them to a 5-1 win at home and a 3-2 victory in overtime in Montreal, with Robert netting the winner.

“After I scored, Joe charged across the ice and bit my ear so hard, I thought he chewed it off,’’ says Robert, laughing. “He said, ‘I knew you were going to do it, I just knew it, I knew it.’"

Two days later, on April 12, 1973, eventual Cup champion Montreal closed out the series with a 4-2 win in Buffalo. The players were heartbroken, but they were uplifted when grateful fans at the old Aud serenaded them with chants of “Thank you, Sabres.’’

When he's reminded of that seminal moment in western New York sports history, Joe Crozier’s eyes light up.

“’Thank you, Sabres.’ That was the best thing of my whole life to hear that,’’ he says.

Crozier coached Buffalo just one more season (the team failed to make the playoffs after Perreault broke his leg and defenseman Tim Horton was killed in a car crash).

With his contract expiring and his relationship with Imlach strained yet again, Crozier jumped to the rival World Hockey Association. Things were never dull regarding Crozier and Imlach, who died in 1987 at age 69.

“They had been together so long, and we are talking two very strong-willed men and they certainly had their sparks,’’ Bonnie Crozier says. “But truth is, they worked well together regardless, and knowing Joe back in those days, taking orders wasn’t something he liked. Joe liked to be the big boss.’’

The Sabres advanced to their first Stanley Cup final in 1974-75 under Floyd Smith, losing to the Philadelphia Flyers in six games.

“Even though he wasn't coaching us anymore,'' Perreault says, "Joe was a big part of that.''

“We were all sad to see Joe go because we thought with Joe behind the bench we surely were guaranteed to win a Stanley Cup with him,’’ Robert says. “I guess it wasn’t meant to be.’’

Unfortunately for Joe Crozier, neither was the WHA.

The renegade league was good for players, driving up salaries, and good for hockey, spreading the game into many more markets. But it folded by 1979, taking Crozier’s Vancouver Blazers and Calgary Cowboys with it.

But hockey wasn’t done with Crozier, and neither was Rochester.

Winning isn't easy. There are sacrifices the public doesn't see.

Shayne Crozier, Joe’s eldest son, confirmed that the demands of the job took a toll on his dad’s first marriage.

His mom was 17 and his dad 18 when they wed, and Joe’s playing and early coaching career saw them live in 13 cities during their 23-year union. They had three children. In addition to Shayne, there is Erin, 57, and Jamie, 56. They all live in Vancouver.

It was a challenging life, and Joe and Marjorie did their best to make it work.

“I didn’t see fighting or anything like that. I think they just grew apart," Shayne says. “She complained a lot that he was away, but that was his job, making the money and supporting the family. I think that was maybe a big part of it."

The years spent in Rochester were happy ones.

Shayne, who attended Irondequoit High School, still remembers his address: 111 Oneta Road, the house with a hockey stick and puck etched into the shutters.

Don Cherry painted the house one summer.

“I think it peeled the next year," Shayne says.

He and his mom attended every Amerks game in those championship years. And while he was born in Quebec, Shayne says he feels he’s an American and Rochester is his hometown.

“Rochester was the best place, pretty fantastic,’’ he says. “Dad was so good at what he did and I was very proud of that. Being so young you don’t realize how big of an impact he made, not until I got older. I guess I never said, 'How proud I am of you, Dad,' but I can say it now.’’

Marjorie Crozier, who died last year at age 87, never remarried. Joe supported the family financially and emotionally, Shayne says, doing “the best he possibly could to make everyone feel good about things.’’

Leaving Rochester at age 15 was difficult, Shayne Crozier says, so he applauded his dad for providing more stability for his stepmom and stepbrothers.

Joe Crozier met Veronica "Bonnie'' Sheehan, a native of Quebec and daughter of a judge, when she worked behind the desk at Toronto’s Royal York Hotel. In 1974, they eloped. They were married by a justice of the peace in Welland, Ontario.

Shayne Crozier says Bonnie has been a loving stepmom, making visits to Vancouver with Joe and maintaining regular contact.

“Honestly, she was the best thing that happened to my dad,’’ says Shayne, who is retired from the food brokerage business. “She’s the rock in the family. I truly believe most of his happiness is when he married Bonnie. I could tell a big change in him over the years.”

Their age difference (17 years) and Joe’s profession may have caused a bit of concern for Bonnie’s family.

“My parents said, ‘What do you mean he’s a hockey coach? What kind of future is that?’" Bonnie says. “But when they got to know Joe, they loved him. I knew they would, and that’s all that mattered.''

After joining forces again with Imlach in Toronto (Crozier coached the Leafs for half of the 1980-81 season) followed by two rewarding years coaching junior players in Kitchener (his 1981-82 Memorial Cup champs were led by future first-round picks Brian Bellows, Scott Stevens, Al MacInnis and David Shaw), Crow’s next break came from the unlikeliest source: Scotty Bowman.

As a giant underdog, Crozier had gotten under the more stoic Bowman’s skin during that memorable '73 playoff, pulling out all the stops, such as having goalie Ken Dryden’s pads successfully measured for a penalty during Game 5. But he earned a begrudging respect from the man who wound up winning nine Stanley Cups.

“As far as I’m concerned, Crozier is a great coach and did a great job of getting as much out of his team as possible,’’ Bowman told the Canadian Press.

Now, as coach/GM in Buffalo, Bowman wanted Crozier on his side. After some thought — and Crozier’s nudging — he tabbed him as Amerks coach for the 1983-84 season.

“I wanted to come back to Rochester so bad I could taste it," said Crozier at his reintroduction news conference where he wore a ring with three diamond chips, one for each of his Calder Cup titles from the 1960s.

Crozier was hardly intimidated replacing Mike Keenan, who had just guided Rochester to the championship. Meanwhile, a new generation of Amerks players warmed to his old-school ways.

Led by 55-goal scorer Mal Davis, veteran Yvon Lambert, Geordie Robertson, Claude Verret, Bob Mongrain and Randy Cunneyworth, Rochester advanced to the Calder Cup finals, where it fell to Maine in five games.

Crozier was crestfallen that he didn't deliver another title to passionate Amerks fans, many who remembered the short but ill-fated Vancouver affiliation he helped broker. But three years later, he would make good on his promise, only in a different way.

After serving as associate coach and running scouting operations, Crozier was at another career crossroads when Bowman was fired early into the 1986-87 season and he wasn't named his successor.

Rather than fly the coop and chase other coaching opportunities as in the past, Crow accepted the role of Sabres liaison to Rochester, where he took up-and-comer John Van Boxmeer under his wing.

A former Sabres' defenseman, Boxie had spent two non-playoff years in Rochester learning by trial and error and fending off critics. He eagerly welcomed Crozier’s experience. For his part, Crozier welcomed the chance to impart his knowledge, enthusiastically serving as Van Boxmeer's confidant, strategist, player psychologist, travel secretary and club comedian.

Dubbed "the old crow and the young bird'' in a Rochester Times-Union headline, they formed a partnership that earned Rochester its fifth Calder Cup title.

“It was huge for me because at that time it’s not like I had any assistants — it was me and the trainer,’’ says Van Boxmeer, 66, who enjoyed a 25-year coaching career and today is a western scout for Buffalo based in Los Angeles. “Joe was the only person I had to bounce ideas off, and his experience was invaluable. He loved to be around the rink, around the guys, and tell stories.''

There are no shortage of those.

Like how in 1983-84 Crozier conducted a fighting segment on his TV show Crow's Corner, instructing kids, "Be sure to get the first punch in.'' WHEC-TV was flooded with calls from angry parents.

How during one game against Binghamton, he turned his suit jacket inside out to protest the refereeing and change his team's luck. The Amerks won 6-3.

How during the playoffs, Crozier's teams always stayed in a Batavia hotel with players encouraged to go to the nearby harness track. "If they lose a little money, they'll be hungrier for that playoff bonus,'' he reasoned.

How one of his motivational ploys before a Game 7 was to deliver champagne to his own locker room, with the attendant instructed to say, “Oops, wrong room.’’

As for gamesmanship, Crozier wrote the manual.

A lack of hot water in the visitors’ showers at the War Memorial? The elevator always out of order on game day, forcing opponents to walk up a long flight of stairs? Only the Crow knows.

He once instructed Boxie on how to hold a productive team meeting.

“Joe said, ‘Get the guys in the locker room and put a couple cases of beer in the middle,’" Van Boxmeer says. “'Come back in an hour and they’ll be ready to talk.’"

In those days, Crozier was never without a suitcase, the kind used by door-to-door salesman. It contained papers along with a horseshoe for good luck and a knife for making a point.

When Van Boxmeer said one day that only half the team was working and playing well, Crozier reached into his suitcase, took out the knife, placed it on his desk and said, "Cut 'er back.’’ As in, shorten his bench to his two best lines and four best defensemen.

“I said, ‘Joe, we’re a development league here. We have to play the young kids,'" Boxie says. “He goes, ‘Develop them in practice. Remember son, they can’t fire you as long as you’re winning.’"

And win they did that year, going 46-26-7, good for 101 points, matching Keenan’s then-club record.

Led by the likes of Jody Gage, Gates Orlando, Don Lever, Richie Dunn, Jim Hofford and Daren Puppa in net, the Amerks beat Sherbrooke in a grueling seven-game final.

The series produced not just another title, but one of the great mysteries in Rochester hockey history when Puppa's jersey went missing before Game 7. Playing in a new sweater with makeshift numbers, Puppa, who had struggled in the series, made 31 stops in the 4-2 clinching win.

"The way I've been playing, it made me feel better that somebody still wanted my jersey,'' Puppa quipped.

But who took it? Nobody could say. But days later, Crozier showed up wearing Puppa's No. 31 road blue — or a facsimile — at a celebration party.

When he's asked about the caper after all these years, Crozier says, "I did it. I took the jersey.''

Had another file drawer opened in his mind? Was the truth finally out?

"I don’t think Joe did it to get anything going,'' Van Boxmeer says. "But I do think he enjoys the mystery of people thinking he planned that.’’

Van Boxmeer (337 wins) would become the winningest coach in franchise history before Cunneyworth (340) passed him. That two of his protégés leapfrogged him in the record books makes Crow (256) want to crow.

“I loved him,’’ Crozier says of VanBoxmeer. “John did a helluva a job.’’

They were birds of a feather.

For Joe Crozier, putting away his coaching whistle was like Picasso putting away his paint brush. The rewards, however, would hip-check the pain.

At 57, the famous hockey coach was now a hockey dad, available to cheer on his kids. His boys could form friendships without the fear of moving again.

"Thank you, Sabres'' became "Thank you, dad.''

“It was a nice transition the Sabres allowed him to have, working with John Van Boxmeer,'' says Rich, a father of four with a homemade rink in his backyard. "My dad probably had more to give and continue behind the bench, but he made the decision to sacrifice personal aspirations for the betterment of his family.’’

With time, Rich, who delivered an emotional induction speech for his dad during AHL Hall of Fame ceremonies in 2012, has come to admire his father even more for his selfless life choices.

"It’s really been the last 10 years, when reflecting on my own coaching, that I have the same passion as my dad does for hockey,'' he says. "But it’s also understanding the importance of finding that balance with family.''

When asked about stepping away from coaching, Joe Crozier says it wasn’t heroic.

“I had enough really," he says.

As a hockey wife, Bonnie Crozier was and is very protective of her husband. But she talks openly now of how Joe struggled with bouts of depression and how he bravely sought treatment.

It was during coaching stints in Cincinnati, Calgary and Rochester the second time that Crozier was hospitalized. Newspaper articles cited the reasons for his absences as “exhaustion" or “illness" and did not elaborate.

In Rochester, Crozier was finally diagnosed properly with depression and treated by Dr. Leon Canapary, who died in 2017 at age 85.

“What I want to convey is that people who do suffer from depression can certainly be very successful, and Joe Crozier is one of them," says Bonnie, who lost a nephew to suicide and is passionate about mental health issues. "I don’t think there are too many families not affected. Joe’s not going behind the bench ever again and it’s not going to affect anything regarding him now, but he did suffer bouts.

“There’s a stigma about certain things, but it has nothing to do with who you are and what you are in life and what you do, and I want people to have hope that you can get help and you can get better."

Coaching didn't cause Crozier's depression. But the all-consuming lifestyle and Joe's fierce competitiveness may have been triggers, family members say.

Like many successful athletes and coaches, Joe loved to win but hated losing more. And the highs couldn't always assuage the lows. Photographers sometimes caught him alone with his thoughts after tough defeats.

“I didn’t know of depression, but Joe did take things so serious," Cherry says. “Losses, he couldn’t toss them off. Hockey was his whole life and he might have been semi-burned out at times. When you’re the GM and coach, you have to get the players, too.'''

Shayne Crozier remembers his dad being a “bear" whenever the Amerks lost.

“He’d come home and go ‘Wow, that guy, why did I put him on the ice?’ " he says. “We’d be like, ‘Dad, the game’s over, it’s OK.’ But he’d be very unhappy. He was a perfectionist and wanted to win, and he took losses hard and it affected him."

Depression wasn't spoken about in the Crozier home, Rich Crozier says. But as he looks back he can "connect the dots'' on why his dad was less engaged some days.

"Hockey's an emotional game, especially when it's your livelihood,'' Rich says. "One-hundred percent everything contributed. The stresses just wore on him.''

The 1983-84 season was Crozier's last as a coach, though he did work five games in 1987 while Van Boxmeer served a suspension. He hadn't lost his touch, either, going 4-1-0.

To this day, the balcony section of the arena is affectionately called by fans "The Crow's Nest.''

“He was — and still is — revered, particularly in Rochester, where he won championships,’’ Van Boxmeer says of his friend. “Joe was a big, big personality. He had all kinds of charisma — he was a showman, he loved that. I think he lived for that. That’s why he enjoyed coming back and being a mentor because he was still around and involved and we had good teams. They were good memories and good times."

Like dancing across the War Memorial stage with Nik and the Nice Guys during the Calder Cup party in 1987 while wearing sunglasses.

Pure Crow. Soaring once more.

Joe Crozier's family is grateful that the Sabres and four different owners saw a treasure in their midst. That Joe's vast experience and celebrity could help the organization in myriad ways.

Some years, Crozier wasn't sure he still had a job but he kept showing up for work. In 1996 he was let go, but Larry Quinn, newly named as Sabres president, immediately hired him back as a personal adviser and mentor to coach Ted Nolan.

“I thought Joe’s knowledge was invaluable, so a lot of times I’d ask his opinion about things and we’d talk about players, the coaching, and so forth,’’ says Quinn, who trusted Crozier’s contacts, including Bobby Orr, to help put in place the long successful GM/coach tandem of Darcy Regier and Lindy Ruff.

In the cutthroat world of pro sports, Crozier was a gust of refreshing cold rink air in his approach, Quinn says. He put the organization first and his ego second. He genuinely enjoyed helping others get ahead, doing so with wit, wisdom and a wink.

"Here's a guy who knows the game so well yet he was never a guy who would undermine anyone, it was always ‘I think I can help here,’'' Quinn says. "With Joe, it was always positive.’’

Eventually sliding full time into the Sabres’ ticket office, Crozier found no job too big or too small. He answered phones, sold to groups, signed autographs. He was first in the office each morning to put the coffee on. At weekly meetings, he gave pep talks to the young staffers.

"The young people just adored him,'' Quinn says.

And so did fans.

"He answered the phone, 'Joe Crozier, Calder Cup champion,''' says John Sinclair, Sabres vice president of tickets who has been with the team for 30 years.

“He was very dedicated. He liked being at the rink, and we didn’t restrain him. He’d walk down to the locker room and tell Teddy Nolan, ‘Hey, you gotta work on this.’ And then he’d be back in the ticket office selling. People still to this day tell me, ‘I remember when Joe Crozier sold me my seats.’ He was a great ambassador for us, especially with renewals, because he’d make a call and Joe just had this great way about him.’’

A way that could get a player to run through a brick wall or a fan to reach for his credit card.

“I liked it,’’ Crozier says of his ticket office days. “I met a lot of nice people.’’

For his years of dedicated service, Crozier was inducted into the Sabres Hall of Fame in 2010. A commemorative silver sword hangs above his fireplace. The ultimate honor for a man who stood behind the Sabres bench a mere 2½ years but who has stood behind the team and the city for almost 40.

“One thing we’re very proud of are the halls of fame dad is in,’’ Rich Crozier says. “The Sabres Hall, that’s for his body of work, too, and it was really the people in the ticket office he worked with that pushed for that.’’

Though no longer on the Sabres’ payroll, Crozier has never officially retired, stopping work around 2012 and only when his health gave out. A torn Achilles, a hip replacement, a heart attack.

“Do you think Joe Crozier ever thought he was too good to work in the ticket office?’’ Bonnie Crozier says. “He’d leave here at 5 o’clock in the morning. I’d try and hold him back and there was no holding him back. He’s a person to this day that people want to talk to. I’ll often go, ‘You know, this guy used to coach the Buffalo Sabres?’ And they’ll go, ‘What, are you crazy?’ But they’re all very, very nice.’’

Drawn to the man with the twinkle in his eye.

The hospitals, the surgeries, the nursing homes are in Joe Crozier’s past. He’s home now. Watching Sabres games on television, enjoying visits from former players and old friends.

Until recently, he was a regular at Sabres’ alumni events. Perreault drove 10 hours from Victoriaville last year to visit him in the hospital, and planned a return visit this month.

“Anything for a great man,’’ Perreault says.

Crozier likes the look of this season’s Sabres, who are much improved.

“I watch games all the time,’’ says Crozier, who still has a GM’s eye. “Jack Eichel, love him. And I really like (Jeff) Skinner. Good move.’’

As this visit winds down, Rich Crozier holds his dad’s hand. Bonnie fixes his hair.

“We’ve dealt with a lot of transitions and this is the current stage,’’ Rich says. “He’s happy and comfortable, enjoys his routine, loves watching his hockey and likes to be surrounded by people he cares about, and he loves visits. My mom is very much the rock of the family in taking the lead.’’

Bonnie is Joe’s chief caregiver, dressing him, fixing his meals, reassuring him he’s safe. It’s what a 45-year love story looks like.

“Listen, it’s very simple, as simple as you can get in life,’’ she says. “Here’s a man who worked very hard for us, Richard, Gregory and me and everybody else. Now it’s our turn.''

What does Joe think of Bonnie?

“She’s a good woman, the best in the world,’’ he says. “I love her so much.’’

And the fans of Rochester? The file cabinet drawer flies open one more time.

“We won championships and I was happy about doing what I did for them and they were good to me,’’ Joe Crozier says. “Tell them I love ‘em.’’

LROTH@Gannett.com

Leo Roth is a western New York native who has worked at Rochester newspapers for more than 30 years. There isn’t a beat, team or topic he hasn’t tackled as an award-winning reporter and columnist. A member of the Frontier Field Walk of Fame, his work has been recognized by the New York State Associated Press, Pro Football Writers of America and Gannett Company. He is the Rochester Press Radio Club’s two-time Sportswriter of the Year and lives in Greece.