Friday, February 6, 2026
Remembering Justice Sandra Schultz Newman
Our dear friend Christine Flowers has written a beautiful reminiscence of Pennsylvania Supreme Court Justice Sandra Schultz Newman who has passed away. We are honored to be quoted in this loving tribute, reprinted with Christine's permission:
As a female in the legal profession, I have often encountered women my own age-64-and even younger, who have this sense of having “accomplished things against all odds.” There is that sort of woman who believes that our gender, even in this day and age, has shackled us, slowed us down, and made any of our eventual accomplishments that much more meaningful.
As Oliver Wendell Holmes would say, I dissent. Respectfully, of course.
For the women of my generation, which is very late Boomer through Gen X, there may have still been a few speed bumps along the highway of professional success. I encountered a bit of passive aggressive sexism, and as the daughter of a legendary Philadelphia lawyer who straddled the legal landscape of the 1970s like a Colossus, I learned how to navigate the setbacks with a smile and, when necessary, a kick in the shins.
I was not a victim, nor were most of the women I meet who might think that they were. And please spare me the “I had to balance my life as a mother with my desire to achieve excellence” mantra. One of my classmates in high school was just appointed to the bench in Montgomery County and she has four beautiful daughters. So kudos to the Honorable Mary Pugh, nee Mary Theresa Coyne, Merion Mercy Class of 1979.
My actual purpose in writing this is to highlight the career and accomplishments of a woman who, like those of her generation, really did have to battle the evils of sexism, and in some cases, racism and bigotry. These were the trailblazers of the bar, women on the national stage with names like Ruth Bader Ginsberg and Sandra Day O’Connor, and locally like a woman who passed this week, and who will forever be considered a legend in Pennsylvania; The Honorable Justice Sandra Schultz Newman, first woman to be elected to the highest court in the Commonwealth.
Justice Newman, or “Sandy” as her friends called her, was one of those people who would have succeeded in whatever field she chose, and she chose the law. Blessed with a Dresden doll beauty, delicate features and pale skin, she could have been a model or a movie star had she wanted to be. A character that flamboyant would have fit right in with that sort of zeitgeist.
But she had a mind, and that mind was not destined for movie scripts or being told to “strike a pose.” She graduated from my alma mater, Villanova Law School, and had the great fortune to study under Professor Howard Lurie, a man who was also my professor a decade later, and who to this day represents for me all that is great and glorious about the rule of law.
She was the first female Assistant District Attorney in Montgomery County, and her career trajectory soared from that point. In 1993, she was elected to the Commonwealth Court, an intermediate appellate court and then in 1995 was the first female in the history of the Pennsylvania judiciary elected to the Supreme Court. Imagine that, it took two centuries, or thereabouts, before they let us on the high court. Justice Newman was a pragmatic, but perceptive justice. She was extremely fair, and even though she was a registered Republican, you would really not know it. Here decisions didn’t come with a partisan time stamp, or fingerprint. She was exactly what a judge should be: neutral.
And this extended to her personal relationships. One of her closest friends was Donna Gentile O’Donnell, a lifelong Democrat of the old Kennedy mold, as fair and as feisty as the justice. They occupied different political hemispheres, but were deeply devoted to each other, up to the final moments. And to my own particular dismay, because I disagreed profoundly with his position on abortion, Justice Newman was a strong supporter of Justice Kevin Dougherty during his retention race this past November. While I was furiously opposing his retention on social media, she was doing everything possible to help him keep his seat, and believe me, her influence dwarfed my keyboard efforts. He was, as we all know, retained.
But I think that this is the hallmark of the woman who left us this week: a person who followed her own personal North Star.
She rarely complained about how hard it had been, because in some ways it hadn’t been. She had that immense spirit and was such a force of nature that I think she simply broke down the barriers by sheer will. It didn’t hurt to have her husband, the legendary Dr. Julius Newman at her side for most of the journey.
I wrote on Facebook that when he passed, she honored his legacy, cherished as it was like a Faberge Egg, precious in memory.
She had also suffered the loss of a son a short while before she herself fell ill, and found comfort in her other son Jonathan, who was the iconic Chairman of the Liquor Control Board and ushered in the “Chairman’s Selection” section.
I was not a close friend of Justice Newman, although we communicated on Facebook and despite her offers to call her “Sandy,” was forever for me, “Madame Justice.”
I write this because her life deserves to be remember far beyond the legal community, which will of course remember her.
I write this because Justice Newman was a person who lived her life fully, and well, and she was an example of how to confront obstacles with joy and a fierce but effective femininity. That word has become unpopular in these post-feminist days, but this was a legal lioness who was not afraid to show her inimitable style.
My friend Dan Cirucci, who knew her well, summed it up the best, I think:
“I was so proud to know her. I loved her. I loved that was so genuine and unaffected by title or status. She delighted in all the people she knew and was so generous and kind. There was a wonderful joy de vivre about her. I’m glad I got to see her one last time and spend some time with her when the Supreme Court’s courtroom in Philadelphia was named in her honor. It was such a wonderful day. She was old school and part of a generation that is passing on and I will miss her just as I miss all of these wonderful trailblazing woman who paved away for so many others– – others who often don’t even realize it, and sadly might not be so grateful even if they did realize it.”
She carried the weight for many women, and did it with grace.
As she now lays it down, let her memory be for a blessing.
Thursday, February 5, 2026
From Pentagon Papers To Epstein: A Sordid Slide!
In 1971 (55 years ago!) when the Pentagon Papers—also known as the Ellsberg files—were leaked to the American public, the nation experienced a shock that was intellectual, moral, and civic all at once.
More than half a century later, the public fixation surrounding the gradual release of materials connected to Jeffrey Epstein feels profoundly different. To begin with, what we're learning is not particularly shocking, in part because nothing seems to shock anymore.
Also, the Epstein files—names, flight logs, testimonies, settlements—do not revolve around war, strategy, or constitutional authority. Instead, they're all about sex, exploitation, and alleged pedophilia among wealthy and powerful figures. The fascination is perhaps just as intense as it was in 1971, maybe even more so, but it is qualitatively different. Where the Pentagon Papers forced Americans to reckon with the moral costs of empire and governance, the Epstein saga draws attention to a moral rot of a more lurid, personal, and salacious kind.
The contrast suggests not merely a change in subject matter, but a shift in societal priorities and sensibilities. In 1971, ordinary Americans—factory workers, students, homemakers—followed dense newspaper articles about foreign policy and classified memos. The language was complex, the issues abstract, and the stakes enormous.
The outrage was not prurient; it was civic. People asked whether their government could be trusted; whether a questionable war in the first place was nothing more than an incestuous web of secrecy and lies. This was not a golden age -- America was riven by violence, protest, and division (sound familiar?) -- but it was a time when national attention was focused on matters of genuine public consequence.
Today, by contrast, our collective obsession often seems rooted in exposure rather than accountability. The Epstein files fascinate because they promise to reveal who did what to whom, behind closed doors, on private planes and islands. The focus is less on systemic reform than on voyeuristic revelation. Names matter not because they illuminate policy failures, but because they titillate and scandalize. The question is no longer “How did our leaders mislead us into war?” but “Who was involved, and how depraved was it?” It's patently prurient.
This shift reflects a broader cultural trajectory—what sociologist and Senator Daniel Patrick Moynihan once called “defining deviancy down.” Over time, behaviors that would once have provoked shock or moral consensus become normalized, relativized, or absorbed into entertainment.
This should surprise no one, when you consider that pornography has moved from the margins to the mainstream. Ever since Bill Clinton declared "I did not have sex with that woman," sexual scandal is no longer exceptional; it is expected. The boundary between news and tabloid has eroded, leaving a culture in which exposure substitutes for judgment and outrage is endlessly recycled, like a seedy salad of click bait, but rarely productive,
To be sure, this does not mean the Epstein case is unimportant. Sexual exploitation, especially of minors, is a grave crime, and the possibility that powerful individuals evaded justice is deeply troubling. But the way the story is consumed—fragmented, sensationalized, and stripped of broader ethical reflection—reveals something unsettling about us. The danger is not that we care about wrongdoing, but that we care in a way that trivializes wrongdoing and flattens all of it into just so much spectacle.
In 1971, we honestly believed that the release of classified documents strengthened the idea that citizens must be informed to be free. That was, after all, a vital part of the the modus operandi for the leak of the Pentagon Papers by Daniel Ellsberg. Today, the constant drip of scandal risks dulling our moral senses. We know more intimate details about the lives of elites than ever before, yet still seem eons removed from the indulgent world they inhabit. At the same time. we're less capable of sustained attention to structural injustice, foreign policy failures, or long-term national decline. The serious competes with the sordid—and often loses.
What happened to us? Part of the answer lies in media economics, part in technological change, and part in a cultural turn inward. Have we become a society more comfortable judging personal sin than confronting collective responsibility? Is that the problem? Or is it the elites and our public institutions that have let us down by opening the doors to a culture without moral guardrails where excess is rampant and graft, corruption, deceit and promiscuity know no bounds, ushering in a new Babylonian age?
The trajectory from the Pentagon Papers to the Epstein files is troubling because this is not just a change in scandal; it is a mirror held up to our values. Once, we were transfixed by lies that sent young men to die. Now, we are mesmerized by secrets that confirm our worst suspicions about human weakness and our decline. The slide may indeed feel slow and sordid—but it is also revealing. It tells us not only what our leaders have done, but more than that. It tells us what we, as a society have become numb to (even as we gaze upon it) and what we are willing to accept, if not countenance.
Hooray! Our Museum OF ART Is Back Again!
A very special message from the Philadelphia Museum of Art:
We’ve been listening and considering. Many of you told us how much you missed our original name, the Philadelphia Museum of Art, and how excited you are about the reimagined griffin logo.
So, as described in today’s press release (link in bio), we’re returning to the Philadelphia Museum of Art.
Some changes you’ll notice soon, while others will take some time. And yes, we may have some discounted merch along the way.
We appreciate your feedback, your patience, and most importantly, your love for our museum.
Come visit soon, join us for Pay What You Wish Friday Night on February 6, and welcome back to the Philadelphia Museum of Art.
The Anne Klein We Knew And Loved . . .
Since her passing, I’ve been thinking a lot about Anne Sceia Klein, my boss, turned business partner, turned predecessor. The little moments, mostly.I remember Anne’s office arrival routine. In those days, AKCG’s headquarters was one long hallway, and Anne would arrive carrying in each hand a canvas bag of work papers she took home with the intention of going through the night before. She’d stop at every employee’s office, chatting about the previous night’s event, what was happening with clients, or the latest episode of 24. It was a marathon, and by the time she made it to her office – strategically placed furthest from the front door – it was time to turn back around to head to her lunch.She was a connector in its most extreme form, and her connection-making knew no geographic or familial bounds. If you worked for her for a week, you could name three of her cousins.At an event, Anne knew everybody, but she always re-introduced herself just in case they couldn’t place her at that particular moment.She stayed at networking events and banquets so long that the caterers would offer her the centerpieces to take home.She taught dining-etiquette workshops but stuck her finger in every birthday cake that passed in front of her gaze.In 2008, she came to Melissa’s and my wedding (pictured) and somehow ended up trading email addresses with the winery-appointed officiant. And no one who knew her was surprised.She had a wicked memory. She laughed a lot. She didn’t take shit.Professionally, she achieved quite a bit, but, more importantly, she did what she wanted to do the way she wanted to do it, and that’s admirable.We had bumps, as you’d expect with two strong personalities navigating a transition, but I’ll always be grateful to her and Jerry Klein for seeing in me and Mike Gross what we might not otherwise have seen in ourselves.
Wednesday, February 4, 2026
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