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Former USA TODAY editor David Mazzarella, who helped give paper its hard news edge, dies

Former USA TODAY editor David Mazzarella, who helped give paper its hard news edge, dies

USA Today21-07-2025
Known as 'Mazz' to the staff, he brought a hard-news approach to USA TODAY in the 1990s.
Former USA TODAY editor David Mazzarella, who helped propel the newspaper to its strongest circulation years in the late 1990s, passed away on July 17 after complications resulting from a fall. He was 87.
Mazzarella, a seasoned war correspondent, editor and AP reporter in Europe, was with USA TODAY from its improbable beginnings in the early 1980s to an impactful five-year stint as editor in chief from 1994-99 at the dawn of the digital age.
Known as 'Mazz' to the staff, he brought a hard-news approach to USA TODAY, too often known more for its bright graphics and layouts rather than its journalism. Under Mazzarella, the newspaper's approach expanded what had been pushed by former editors, featuring investigations into air bag safety, the wave of arsons at Black churches and reports on AIDS in Africa.
Mazzarella had a street fighter's instinct, honed during his years as a circulation manager in 1983, where he was tasked with persuading hostile New York City union bosses and politicians to allow USA TODAY boxes at hundreds of street corners. Rapidly replacing the vending machines as they were destroyed by M-80 firecrackers or otherwise vandalized, Mazzarella said later: 'We wore them down.'
"He had competed in New York. He knew what being disrespected was about," former USA TODAY president and publisher Tom Curley said in a 2007 interview for 'The Making of McPaper,' a book about USA TODAY. "And he had a fix on what the paper needed to do with its soul, which was to get better at news."
Named newspaper's editor in 1994
He was named head of USA TODAY's International editions before being selected as the newspaper's editor in 1994. Few in the newsrooms knew who he was, but Mazzarella made his mark immediately, insisting on a strict adherence to professionalism, clarity and openness to presenting fresh political takes on Washington stories.
At one point, Mazzarella ordered the newsroom to tamp down on its wall-to-wall coverage of OJ Simpson, a prescient realization that the story was becoming more circus than courtroom. And he once wondered why a story about Madonna's new hair color was a story at all.
'I spent many hours with him when the Clinton-Lewinsky scandal broke,' remembered former Washington editor Bill Sternberg. 'He was focused on ensuring that the coverage was fair and competitive, not lurid.'
Mazzarella instituted late afternoon "bullpen" meetings, where reporters and editors were asked to explain why their stories deserved to be on Page One. The questioning was so precise that some staffers were shaken by the inquiries. 'Woe is you if you went in unprepared,' former National Editor Lee Ann Hamilton recalled.
'Great coverage became less the exception, more the expected,' former managing editor of News Hal Ritter said. 'He believed in us,'' agreed former executive editor Susan Weiss.
"I would like to think that era awakened some talent among the staff," Mazzarella said in an interview later.
The hard-news approach seemed to work on the bottom line. Circulation was often 2 million copies a day or higher, and ad revenue soared.
'Best newspaper editor no one's ever heard of'
"USA TODAY is getting perceptibly better all the time," wrote the American Journalism Review in 1997, during the heart of Mazzarella's influence. Mazzarella, said media critic Howard Kurtz, might be 'the best newspaper editor in America no one's ever heard of.'
He did this while never losing a ready smile and amiable relations with most staff members, even as the specter of layoffs began to infect the industry as a whole.
Mazzarella was proud of his Italian-American heritage (born in Newark), often recalling his favorite restaurants in Rome, writing a memoir about his mother, Benigna, titled, 'Always Eat the Hard Crust of the Bread,' and emphasizing the third syllable when he pronounced political correspondent Richard Benedetto's name.
Said Benedetto upon hearing of Mazzarella's death: "Not only was he one of the best newsmen ever, he also was a kind, sincere and generous soul, a loyal and trusted friend and mentor, an impeccable role model, a credit to his Italian American heritage and just plain one of the kindest gentlemen I ever met."
Mazzarella retired in 1999, just as the newspaper's focus began to shift to digital platforms. He became an ombudsman for Stars and Stripes, the Defense Department's daily newspaper, and an advocate for the newspaper's First Amendment rights within the closely watched military environment.
Mazzarella is survived by his wife, Christine Wells, a former senior vice president of The Freedom Forum; three daughters, and two grandchildren. Mazzarella and Kitty Uksti divorced in 1995.
A celebration of life will be held on Saturday, Aug. 2 at 11 a.m. at Holy Rosary Church, 595 Third Street St. NW, Washington, D.C.
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High in India's Himalayan mountains, yak herders struggle to survive a warming world
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High in India's Himalayan mountains, yak herders struggle to survive a warming world

LADAKH, India (AP) — Carrying her 1-year-old son on her back, Tsering Dolma herds a dozen yaks into a stone-walled corral as evening approaches in the desolate mountains of India's remote Ladakh region. A few herders tending livestock are the only people visible for miles on the wind-swept plains where patchy grass gives way to gravelly foothills and stony peaks. For generations, herders such as Dolma have relied on snowmelt that trickled down the mountain folds to sustain the high-altitude pastures where their herds graze. But now, herders say, the snow and rain are less predictable, and there is less grass for yaks to eat. 'Earlier, it used to snow and rain, but now it has reduced a lot,' the 32-year-old says. 'Even the winters are getting warmer than before.' Much of the herding, milking and gathering of wool is done by women in Ladakh, an area near Tibet that was part of the ancient Silk Route. It's work mostly done by hand. In another valley, Kunzias Dolma is busy making tea with yak milk and checking her yak butter, while spinning her Buddhist prayer wheel with her right hand. The 73-year-old, who's not related to Tsering Dolma, has spent her life around yaks, working long hours to make products from their milk and sewing blankets from their wool. 'We wake up early morning around 5 a.m. every day,' she says. 'My husband and I milk the yaks and do all of the other yak-related work until about lunch. Then we take a break and get back to work in the evening. We have been doing this all our life.' But that way of life is threatened as climate change makes Ladakh less hospitable to yaks and many in the younger generation seek other jobs. Rising temperatures and erratic rainfall in the area have made it harder for yaks, which are related to bison and cattle, to find nourishing vegetation and have also exposed the shaggy, cold-loving animals' bodies to more stress. Researchers have found that the average temperature in the Ladakh region has increased by 3 C (5.4 F) in the last four decades, while heat waves have become more extreme and rains more unpredictable. While it's hard to precisely quantify climate change's impact on yak numbers in the area, scientists say it appears to be a factor in their decline. The government estimates the yak population in Ladakh has fallen from nearly 34,000 in 2012 to fewer than 20,000 in 2019, the most recent year for which the data is available. Globally, the yak population remains in the millions, but scientists say the ecosystem in this part of the Himalayas is particularly vulnerable to global warming. A threatened way of life Herder Kunzang Angmo has seen the changes up close. 'Earlier, there were a lot of yaks, but now there aren't as many,' she says. 'It used to snow a lot before, but now the snowfall is decreasing, and due to less water, we have less grass available.' Generations of Tsering Angchok's family have relied on yaks, but the number of herders in the area is dropping. 'We get everything from the yak—food, milk, clothing, butter, cheese, meat, wool, even dung,' says the 75-year-old who has 80 yaks. 'Nothing goes to waste. We and our ancestors have grown up living on all of this.' As weather patterns change, native vegetation is being crowded out by less nourishing shrubs and weeds, according to researchers. Herders say grazing lands are becoming smaller. Thering Norphel, a 70-year-old former yak herder, remembers when pastures had more vegetation and life with yaks was easier. 'When I was younger, there was more grass, more water and more wildlife,' he says. Pointing to bare mountains in the distance, he said: 'Earlier, all those mountains were filled with snow. Now it's just rock. As there is no snow or ice, there is less water. This affects the growth of grass that yaks feed on.' Consequences for a fragile ecosystem Tashi Dorji, a livestock and rangelands specialist with the International Centre for Integrated Mountain Development, says the region and its people are being hit especially hard by global warming. 'Fast-melting glaciers, intense, erratic rainfall and reducing snow levels are all having a direct impact on both the herders and their animals,' Dorji says. Stanzin Rabgais, a livestock officer with the Ladakh government, attributes a rise in bacterial diseases among yaks in recent years to hotter temperatures in the region. Experts warn that the decline in yak herding has consequences for Ladakh and its fragile Himalayan ecosystem, because pastoralists manage grazing lands, keep invasive plants in check and help maintain the area's biodiversity. The sparsely populated region, most of which is is above 3,000 meters (9,842 feet), is also home to wildlife including the snow leopard, red fox and blue sheep. 'If the herders disappear, the landscape changes,' Dorji says. 'Unpalatable shrubs take over, wildlife loses food sources and the ecosystem starts to collapse. This is not just about animals—it's about a way of life and the health of the land.' Rabgais believes that yak products could sell beyond the area if properly marketed and developed. He describes yak calf wool, for example, as finer than most commercial wool, rivaling cashmere in softness. A traditional livelihood in a changing job market Jobs in tourism and other industries, along with educational opportunities, also draw people away from herding. Herders say younger Ladakhis prefer less arduous work with potentially better pay than tending to yaks. Herders travel long distances over rough mountain land to find grazing areas and are constantly on the move. 'The next generation doesn't want to do this work. They work for the Indian Army as laborers or are getting an education and looking for other jobs,' says Norphel, the former yak herder. Ladakh, famous for its Buddhist monasteries and hiking trails, has experienced a significant increase in tourism in recent years as transportation infrastructure has made the area easier to reach, which has created new jobs. Rabgais, the government official, says most yak herders are older now and unless greater numbers of young people take up herding, 'the future is bleak' for the occupation. Among the exceptions is 32-year-old yak herder Punchuk Namdol, who chose the traditional profession even as other people his age look for different options. 'Earlier, we didn't have any other work — we only had yaks and other cattle,' Namdol says. 'But now, there's no one to take care of them. Yak herding is a difficult task, and fewer people are willing to do it.' ___ ___ ___ The Associated Press' climate and environmental coverage receives financial support from multiple private foundations. AP is solely responsible for all content. Find AP's standards for working with philanthropies, a list of supporters and funded coverage areas at

High in India's Himalayan mountains, yak herders struggle to survive a warming world
High in India's Himalayan mountains, yak herders struggle to survive a warming world

Hamilton Spectator

time6 hours ago

  • Hamilton Spectator

High in India's Himalayan mountains, yak herders struggle to survive a warming world

LADAKH, India (AP) — Carrying her 1-year-old son on her back, Tsering Dolma herds a dozen yaks into a stone-walled corral as evening approaches in the desolate mountains of India's remote Ladakh region. A few herders tending livestock are the only people visible for miles on the wind-swept plains where patchy grass gives way to gravelly foothills and stony peaks. For generations, herders such as Dolma have relied on snowmelt that trickled down the mountain folds to sustain the high-altitude pastures where their herds graze. But now, herders say, the snow and rain are less predictable, and there is less grass for yaks to eat. 'Earlier, it used to snow and rain, but now it has reduced a lot,' the 32-year-old says. 'Even the winters are getting warmer than before.' Much of the herding, milking and gathering of wool is done by women in Ladakh, an area near Tibet that was part of the ancient Silk Route. It's work mostly done by hand. In another valley, Kunzias Dolma is busy making tea with yak milk and checking her yak butter, while spinning her Buddhist prayer wheel with her right hand. The 73-year-old, who's not related to Tsering Dolma, has spent her life around yaks, working long hours to make products from their milk and sewing blankets from their wool. 'We wake up early morning around 5 a.m. every day,' she says. 'My husband and I milk the yaks and do all of the other yak-related work until about lunch. Then we take a break and get back to work in the evening. We have been doing this all our life.' But that way of life is threatened as climate change makes Ladakh less hospitable to yaks and many in the younger generation seek other jobs . Rising temperatures and erratic rainfall in the area have made it harder for yaks, which are related to bison and cattle, to find nourishing vegetation and have also exposed the shaggy, cold-loving animals' bodies to more stress. Researchers have found that the average temperature in the Ladakh region has increased by 3 C (5.4 F) in the last four decades, while heat waves have become more extreme and rains more unpredictable. While it's hard to precisely quantify climate change's impact on yak numbers in the area, scientists say it appears to be a factor in their decline. The government estimates the yak population in Ladakh has fallen from nearly 34,000 in 2012 to fewer than 20,000 in 2019, the most recent year for which the data is available. Globally, the yak population remains in the millions, but scientists say the ecosystem in this part of the Himalayas is particularly vulnerable to global warming. A threatened way of life Herder Kunzang Angmo has seen the changes up close. 'Earlier, there were a lot of yaks, but now there aren't as many,' she says. 'It used to snow a lot before, but now the snowfall is decreasing, and due to less water, we have less grass available.' Generations of Tsering Angchok's family have relied on yaks, but the number of herders in the area is dropping. 'We get everything from the yak—food, milk, clothing, butter, cheese, meat, wool, even dung,' says the 75-year-old who has 80 yaks. 'Nothing goes to waste. We and our ancestors have grown up living on all of this.' As weather patterns change, native vegetation is being crowded out by less nourishing shrubs and weeds, according to researchers. Herders say grazing lands are becoming smaller. Thering Norphel, a 70-year-old former yak herder, remembers when pastures had more vegetation and life with yaks was easier. 'When I was younger, there was more grass, more water and more wildlife,' he says. Pointing to bare mountains in the distance, he said: 'Earlier, all those mountains were filled with snow. Now it's just rock. As there is no snow or ice, there is less water. This affects the growth of grass that yaks feed on.' Consequences for a fragile ecosystem Tashi Dorji, a livestock and rangelands specialist with the International Centre for Integrated Mountain Development, says the region and its people are being hit especially hard by global warming. 'Fast-melting glaciers, intense, erratic rainfall and reducing snow levels are all having a direct impact on both the herders and their animals,' Dorji says. Stanzin Rabgais, a livestock officer with the Ladakh government, attributes a rise in bacterial diseases among yaks in recent years to hotter temperatures in the region. Experts warn that the decline in yak herding has consequences for Ladakh and its fragile Himalayan ecosystem, because pastoralists manage grazing lands, keep invasive plants in check and help maintain the area's biodiversity. The sparsely populated region, most of which is is above 3,000 meters (9,842 feet), is also home to wildlife including the snow leopard, red fox and blue sheep. 'If the herders disappear, the landscape changes,' Dorji says. 'Unpalatable shrubs take over, wildlife loses food sources and the ecosystem starts to collapse. This is not just about animals—it's about a way of life and the health of the land.' Rabgais believes that yak products could sell beyond the area if properly marketed and developed. He describes yak calf wool, for example, as finer than most commercial wool, rivaling cashmere in softness. A traditional livelihood in a changing job market Jobs in tourism and other industries, along with educational opportunities, also draw people away from herding. Herders say younger Ladakhis prefer less arduous work with potentially better pay than tending to yaks. Herders travel long distances over rough mountain land to find grazing areas and are constantly on the move. 'The next generation doesn't want to do this work. They work for the Indian Army as laborers or are getting an education and looking for other jobs,' says Norphel, the former yak herder. Ladakh, famous for its Buddhist monasteries and hiking trails, has experienced a significant increase in tourism in recent years as transportation infrastructure has made the area easier to reach, which has created new jobs. Rabgais, the government official, says most yak herders are older now and unless greater numbers of young people take up herding, 'the future is bleak' for the occupation. Among the exceptions is 32-year-old yak herder Punchuk Namdol, who chose the traditional profession even as other people his age look for different options. 'Earlier, we didn't have any other work — we only had yaks and other cattle,' Namdol says. 'But now, there's no one to take care of them. Yak herding is a difficult task, and fewer people are willing to do it.' ___ Follow Sibi Arasu on X at @sibi123 ___ Follow Dar Yasin on Instagram at @daryasinap ___ The Associated Press' climate and environmental coverage receives financial support from multiple private foundations. AP is solely responsible for all content. Find AP's standards for working with philanthropies, a list of supporters and funded coverage areas at .

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