NEWTOWN SQUARE, Pa. — When Joey Crawford began his career as an N.B.A. referee in 1977, there were two officials on the court for each game, no 3-point line and just 22 teams in the league, including franchises in Buffalo and in Kansas City, Mo. “It was a different era,” he said.

Thirty-five years later, on a cloudy morning outside Philadelphia, Crawford, 60, ate bagels and entertained visitors with a seemingly endless array of tales from nearly 2,500 games calling fouls and watching the N.B.A. grow. By the door, his suitcase awaited; he had an afternoon flight to Oklahoma City, where another playoff season would begin for him, this time with Game 1 between the Thunder and the Dallas Mavericks.

To players or coaches, Crawford is the irascible whistle-blower. To longtime N.B.A. fans, he is the familiar bald head on their screens. To people in a certain part of Wayne, Pa., he is just the guy who used to deliver the mail. Crawford, of course, would prefer that no one knew him at all. Officials in all sports crave anonymity — that is how they know they have done a good job — and Crawford is no exception. His father, Shag, was a longtime major league umpire. His brother, Jerry, was, too. Joey Crawford always wanted to be a basketball referee. Asked to explain why he is still doing this, still leaving his wife, Mary, to take yet another flight, he shrugged.

Then he pointed to the suitcase by the door.

“This is what I know,” he said. “These are my stories.”

I started right at the bottom, did 13 games in the first weekend that I started reffing in local leagues. I went from gym to gym to gym, didn’t know what I was doing. I was 18, didn’t even have a car. I worked my way up. Then I got into the old Eastern League, and I worked in the Eastern League for four years. I got into the N.B.A. when I was 25.