I never met Paul Newman, the legendary actor who passed away Saturday. But for one day 12 years ago, he was one of my closest friends.

Sorta.

It was spring of 1996, and I was a college senior working as an intern at the White House. I was stationed in the Office of Communications, specifically in the Presidential Letters and Messages department. My job was to ghost write letters, on behalf of President Clinton, to those deemed "more important people."

What that meant was that Clinton received thousands of letters every day, and about 95 percent of them received one of hundreds of rotating form letters. The remaining five percent were either too weird for a form letter, or in my office's case, considered special enough to earn a personalized reply.

Within that five percent, almost all of the letters were signed by "autopen," a robotic arm that actually held a real pen. In other words, though the signature was legal and binding, these letters never crossed the president's desk. Every administration since at least Ronald Reagan has done it, more or less, the same way.

I wrote tons of these letters, and since I was an intern, I usually got the bottom of the barrel. I wrote letters to the 1996 bowler of the year, the Ukrainian Educational and Cultural Center, National Library Week and the Puerto Rico Banker's Association.

But every now and then, the real staffers would throw us interns a bone. "FOBs," or "Friends of Bill," got actual letters from our office, ones that were read and signed by the president.

On March 6 (I remember the day, since I wrote about it in my final paper to earn the six credits I paid for to make this unpaid internship count), a staffer told me he had a special assignment for me. Paul Newman, a close friend and campaign donor of Clinton's, got into a minor accident in his Volvo. The White House asked me to ghost write a short and funny letter to Newman. And do it in the style of POTUS, they said.

I had spent months learning how to write like the president -- flowery, generic and without using words that were too big. It was like deprogramming myself from all those journalism classes and experiences at the Dallas Morning News Washington Bureau. But I had gotten pretty good at ending every letter with, "As we build bridges to the 21st century, Hillary and I send you best wishes."

But now, they were asking me to be pithy and funny, Clinton style.

I literally leaned back in my chair, put my feet on the desk, and spent the next hour pretending to be Bill Clinton. And yes, this was before the world knew about Monica Lewinsky, though she did work in my office -- just two semesters before I got there.

Finally, I came up with this:

Dear Paul:

Sorry to hear about your accident -- I'm glad your hand fared better than your Volvo. I know how much you like driving fast cars, but try to save those tight turns for the race track!

I hope you're feeling better and look forward to seeing you soon.

Sincerely,
Bill Clinton

The letter went to POTUS' desk unedited, and was signed by Clinton. A few days later, a staffer handed me a photocopy, smiled and said, "Congratulations." That letter is now framed on my wall, above my photos with Paul Molitor and George Bush (in that order).

That's really all I have to say about Paul Newman. I've enjoyed his salad dressing and his movies, but I was hardly an aficionado of his work.

But for one day in 1996, he was a close friend.