It was Joe on the phone.

There were no preliminaries. “I’ve got a surprise for you, can you stop by tonight?”

I was used to Joe’s surprises. He was always full of them, but they could be delivered over the phone. I had planned to do some Christmas shopping, but I said I’d stop at his apartment on West Shore Road after work, which I did.

I met Joe Kernan in the early ’90s when he was covering Warwick as a beat reporter for the Providence Journal. He wasn’t a “gotcha” news reporter, the reporter that would grill the police chief or the mayor at a press conference or the reporter who had an interest in a particular subject – say education or politics – and stuck to that coverage. Joe was interested in people and shined in telling their stories in ways that revealed their character in frequently amusing ways.

Feature stories were his forte.

I don’t remember the specifics over his leaving the Journal, but when he asked if the Beacon could use a freelancer, I was excited. It wasn’t long before he was on staff, and he took on the assignment of writing obituaries and the police blotter. He later was given the title of feature editor.

He became the newsroom source of arcane facts and an outspoken critic of anyone who thought they were important, whether they be a fellow employee or the mayor.

His comments, seemingly random thoughts that would come to his mind – such as, “I went to the Iron Works Inn and they asked if I had reservations, I said I did but I wanted to eat there anyway” – often broke the stress of deadlines and had the office cackling.

In the ’90s, newspapers, not the family of the deceased or funeral home, wrote obituaries. The newspaper selected who would get an obituary and if family wanted to be sure to get something in print, they could buy a death notice.

Writing obituaries meant interviewing family members and sometimes digging into issues that were sensitive. It was a job that required compassion, tact and patience, the ability to listen and pin down details. Joe was good at gleaning the high points of the deceased’s life while frequently relating a story that made it so much more than a list of facts and names.

He used the same skills in covering police news.

As the Beacon does not cover every police report, using the log codes for types of incidents, Joe requested reports he thought would illustrate the diversity of issues faced by the department and what was happening in Warwick neighborhoods. He was good with puns and would occasionally use them to inject a bit of humor when appropriate.

A favorite headline in the log, “Why they get caught,” was a precursor to a laugh. One of the memorable accounts to come under that headline involved an attempted bank robbery. The robber, apparently assuming he would remain anonymous, called a cab to bring him to the bank. The cabbie delivered his customer to the bank. The customer, aka the robber, told him to wait, but as soon as the cabbie realized what was happening, he called the cops.

Joe would dig into police reports, often focusing on the police and to what lengths they went to solve a case.

His feature stories also centered on people.

Medical issues eventually forced him to retire, although on occasion he’d get fired up and comment on public events in his column “Curious” or interview a veteran [he did a number of interviews with WWII veterans]. War stories and acts of courage under duress fascinated Joe.

A painting of a B-17 bomber, riddled by bullet holes, German fighter planes on the attack and a wide-eyed pilot at the controls held a prominent position in his apartment. The scene depicts the bomber the late Gov. Bruce Sundlun was flying on a mission over France when he was shot down. Joe interviewed Sundlun and recounted the details of how he parachuted from the plane and hid in an open field, because he realized the Germans would look in the woods. Sundlun connected with the French resistance, who dressed him as a priest, gave him a bicycle and directed to a location where he could rejoin the Allies. Joe loved the irony that a good Jew like Sundlun slipped away from the Nazis as a Catholic.

Sundlun, who signed the painting, gave it to Joe after the interview.

Joe’s depth of information was no more evident than when he was watching “Jeopardy!” It’s doubtful he missed a show. Joe always had the answers – that was just a given. It was his commentary that made watching the show with him so entertaining.

Every so often, he’d blurt, “Everyone knows the answer to that.” More frequently, he’d expound on the topic, bringing up additional information that might have even stumped Alex Trebek.

Joe’s later years were not easy. There were a succession of medical episodes that landed him in the hospital on more than one occasion and required him to be on oxygen. He lost his ability to drive, yet remained fiercely independent and wanted no part of a nursing home or assisted living facility, which is probably a good thing. Joe was up most of the day and night, and if he had an audience he was sure to be talking.

If it were not for Steve Peoples, who Joe met through the Beacon, Joe would not have been able to live the way he did. Steve visited Joe two and three times a week. He got his mail, did his shopping and cleaned the apartment. Best of all, Steve loved Joe and his quirks.

So, when Joe called me, I wondered what sort of surprise he had and where he might have gotten it.

As the routine, I went to the window of Joe’s apartment. I could see him in the Lazy Boy chair Steve had given him, watching his “Jeopardy!” I rapped on the glass and he looked over, motioning me to slide the window open.

“There’s a card there for you,” he said. I found it on the sill.

“You know I sold my car.” I thought that was a good thing, as it had been sitting untouched in the lot for the past year.

“There’s $600 in there.”

“Joe,” I protested, “I don’t want you to pay me back.”

“Take it,” he demanded, “get something for Carol or that dog of yours.”

I took the card.

Hardly a week later, on Christmas Day, Joe died.