Remembering Sandra Schultz Newman

Sandra Schultz Newman in her “dream closet” in the June 1988 issue of Philadelphia magazine. / Photography by Mary D’Anella

I’m gutted by the news that Sandra Schultz Newman has died. Sandy (I always called her Sandy, and she let me) was a force of nature, one of the most fascinating, sharp-as-a-whip, hilarious, generous, resilient, shrewdest people I’ve ever met.

I first met her in late 1987 when I was a young writer starting my career at Philly Mag. A publicist I got to know in town, Tina Breslow, told me over lunch at Marabella’s some great gossip: Sandra Newman, Philly’s top divorce lawyer, had ordered her husband, Dr. Julius Newman, the famous cosmetic surgeon known as “Dr. Nose,” to build her a new house because she needed a bigger closet. Ding ding ding! I ran back to the office, told my editor and had my next story: “Mrs. Nose Builds Her Dream Closet.”

“Mrs. Nose Builds Her Dream Closet” in the June 1988 issue of Philadelphia magazine. (Click image to read the article.)

I spent weeks and weeks with Sandy, drinking Dom P and smoking long More cigarettes at the Four Seasons, being regaled with wild divorce stories (most of her clients were men, partly because men could afford her and partly because, as one client put it, “only a woman could be as big a bitch as my wife”), and accompanying her on all sorts of adventures — including her annual trip to New York City, via one of her private limousines, to put her 17 fur coats (three belonged to her husband) in storage (they needed a limousine to fit, so we couldn’t take one of the Rollses), with a stop at Bergdorf’s to drop $1,950 on another Judith Leiber evening bag.

Let’s just say it was a very ’80s story. Not everyone loved it. Her rabbi was pissed. When, years later, she ran for Supreme Court justice, her opponent tried to use it against her. It didn’t work; she won.

We stayed in touch over the years and in 2021, when I moved back to Philadelphia, she was the first person to take me to lunch, at the Capital Grille. I asked her that day why she liked my story. “Because you made it clear,” she said, “that I earned my own money.”

“The Noses in (almost) Casablanca, their new $4 million digs.” Julius and Sandra Schultz Newman photographed in the June 1988 issue of Philadelphia magazine.

Julius died 21 years ago. Sandy never got over it. She had two sons, who were her world. One of them, David, a yoga guru, died two years ago of brain cancer. She was never the same. And her body started failing. She died on Monday at the age of 87. I can honestly say that, even through some wicked emotional and physical pain, she never wasted one of her days.

At first, when I came back to Philly, I had to use a walker, so she would dispatch Mark, her chauffeur, to pick me and my dog Joey up and deliver us to her dream house in Gladwyne, where her chef would cook up something fabulous and we’d talk and talk and talk and gossip for hours. She was as protective of me as Mama Bear would be, doted on Joey, and always gave me great advice on everything from my stories (“That’s not Lisa enough.”) to my wardrobe (“Oh, get rid of that!”).

I loved her madly and I’ll miss her madly.