The Long View

By Sloan MacRae, September 2, 2026

Matt Mulcahy ’87 built a distinguished broadcasting career by reporting on one community deeply. Along the way, he has shown why trusted local journalism matters.

Mulcahy '87 in 2020. He has won five New York Emmy Awards for his work. (Photo courtesy of Matt Mulcahy)

On a cold, rainy afternoon in March, more than a dozen producers, editors, reporters, and a meteorologist settled into the afternoon editorial meeting inside the CNY Central/WSTM-TV newsroom in Syracuse. Over the next 30 minutes, the discussion moved efficiently from anonymous donors connected to the region's aquarium project to the mayor's confrontation with a local property owner following a fatal fire. The cold rain falling outside naturally found its way into the weather forecast. Different perspectives emerged throughout. Occasionally, someone deferred to Matt Mulcahy ’87. More often, he listened.

It is not the newsroom that pop culture has conditioned audiences to expect. There were no shouted deadlines or dramatic declarations, no larger-than-life personalities imposing their wills. Instead, editorial decisions emerged through conversation, guided by colleagues who had worked together long enough to communicate in shorthand. By the time the discussion concluded, the framework for that evening's broadcast was in place.

The stories discussed that afternoon were the stories of Central New York. For nearly four decades, they have also been Mulcahy's stories.

As managing editor and anchor at WSTM-TV (CNY Central’s NBC3) and CW6, he has reported through political upheaval, economic change, historic snowstorms, and some of Central New York's most significant criminal investigations. He has become one of the region's most recognizable and trusted journalists, earning induction into the New York State Broadcasters Association Hall of Fame and the Syracuse Press Club Wall of Distinction.

His reporting also took him overseas—to Lockerbie, Scotland, after the bombing of Pan Am Flight 103; Bosnia, while embedded with Fort Drum’s 10th Mountain Division; and the Vatican for the canonization of Mother Marianne Cope. He also helped pioneer social media and digital reporting in the Syracuse market.

Learning by Doing

Three men, two in military gear, one in civilian gear, at an airstrip.

Mulcahy (right) at Camp Tuzla, Bosnia-Herzegovina, covering the 10th Mountain Division in 1998. (Photo courtesy of Matt Mulcahy)

Mulcahy didn't come to South Hill intending to become a journalist.

He enrolled as an exploratory major, still deciding where his interests might lead. Before long, he found himself drawn instead to the campus radio and television stations, spending what he described as "all my waking hours" producing broadcasts, covering stories, and learning every aspect of television news. By his sophomore year, he had transferred into the School of Communications (now the Roy H. Park School of Communications) to study television and radio with an emphasis in broadcast journalism.

For generations, Ithaca College students have learned their craft by practicing it. Mulcahy was no exception. He covered the 1984 presidential campaign when Ronald Reagan visited nearby Broome County, worked alongside classmates who would go on to national broadcasting careers, anchored election coverage, served as news director for ICTV, called Ithaca College athletic contests on the radio, and somehow still found time to host a jazz program on WICB.

One memory, however, has stayed with him even more than the visit of a sitting president.

During those same college years, Mulcahy covered a barn fire near Irish Settlement Road outside Ithaca. Looking back, he remembers discovering something unexpected: the local story proved every bit as compelling as the national one.

"I found that to be exciting and compelling to cover spot news and news that happened in your own community," he recalled.

That realization shaped the rest of his career.

A man stands on a college campus in front of a building labeled "Roy H. Park School of Communications."

Mulcahy during a 2025 visit to campus. (Photo courtesy of Matt Mulcahy)

Over nearly four decades, Mulcahy has reported on the same region long enough to become more than a chronicler of current events. He has watched communities evolve, followed stories over years instead of days, and developed the institutional memory that only time and attention can provide. Covering Central New York year after year has meant understanding the history behind today's news. A policy debate might trace its roots back decades. A neighborhood issue might carry echoes of earlier decisions. A source who first appeared in one story might resurface years later in an entirely different context.

At a time when information has never been more abundant, the need for trusted local reporting remains profound. Across the country, newsrooms have shrunk or disappeared, and daily newspapers have shuttered—even in major markets—leaving many communities with fewer journalists whose job is to ask difficult questions, verify facts, and explain what is happening in the places people call home. In the absence of that reporting, the information vacuum is often filled by social media speculation, hearsay, and partisan framing. At a moment when confidence in many institutions has eroded and nearly every issue is filtered through competing narratives, communities still need someone to establish the verifiable facts: Who are the anonymous donors behind the aquarium project? What caused the fatal apartment fire? What can be confirmed, and what cannot? Those questions remain the essential work of local journalism.

"I found that to be exciting and compelling to cover spot news and news that happened in your own community,"

Matt Mulcahy

Knowing a Place

Hanging in Mulcahy's office is an oversized archival map of Syracuse created in 1919. Neighborhoods are marked by ethnicity and race, documenting patterns of segregation that would shape the city's development for generations. Long before redlining entered the national vocabulary, the map captured divisions whose effects are still visible today. It serves as a reminder that today's stories rarely begin today.

Asked whether he considers himself a historian of Central New York, Mulcahy paused before answering.

"More as every decade passes."

Time has given him opportunities to ask new questions of old stories.

Mulcahy first covered the disappearance of convenience store clerk Heidi Allen in 1994. Nearly three decades later, he returned to the case to report it anew, obtaining investigative files through Freedom of Information requests and spending more than a year reviewing documents, recorded interviews, police video, and other evidence. His reporting uncovered previously undisclosed investigative material and prompted new questions about one of Central New York's most enduring mysteries. Rather than revisiting the case as history, he approached it as unfinished journalism.

The same instinct guides his reporting on today's headlines. When a suburban school district selected a superintendent with little public discussion, Mulcahy didn't stop at reporting the vote. He began examining whether the school board had complied with New York's Open Meetings Law, questioning why interviews had been conducted outside public view and whether the station should ultimately challenge the process in court.

"How do we collectively cover local news better and more comprehensively and with accountability and an investigative eye, instead of only doing press release type stuff?" he said.

Early in Mulcahy's career, Syracuse was served by multiple daily newspapers whose beat reporters regularly broke stories that television stations could build upon. Today, many of those reporters—and some of those newsrooms—are gone. The work remains. There are simply fewer journalists available to do it.

Accepting his induction into the New York State Broadcasters Association Hall of Fame, he reminded colleagues, "You're broadcasters, and that matters."

For Mulcahy, the distinction is not about prestige. It is about responsibility. Journalism begins with asking another question, making another phone call, verifying another fact. Those habits have defined his reporting in Central New York. They also shaped the newsroom on that rainy afternoon in March, where the discussion was never about what might generate the most clicks or travel furthest online. The questions were more immediate: What happened? What still needs to be confirmed? And what do the people of Central New York need to know before the evening news begins?

Going to Air

At the 2025 NYSBA Hall of Fame Induction. From left: Michael Benny, Megan Coleman, Peter Hall, John Mulcahy, Jamie Pomilio-Mulcahy, Larry Levine, Bill Pidto, and Kevin Maxon (courtesy of Matt Mulcahy)

Among the producers contributing to the afternoon editorial meeting are three recent Ithaca College graduates: Emma Kersting ’24, Jack Marxen ’24, and Charlie Nichols ’25. Like Mulcahy, they arrived having already experienced the responsibilities of journalism. Student media at Ithaca College doesn't operate in a vacuum. Deadlines are real. Audiences are real. So are the people at the center of the stories. Long before graduation, students learn that reporting carries obligations: to verify facts, earn trust, and get the story right.

That afternoon in Syracuse, those lessons were part of the rhythm of the newsroom. The editorial meeting ended. Producers returned to their desks. Reporters made another phone call or rewrote a script. Meteorologist Peter Hall refined the evening forecast as the rain continued outside.

A few hours later, Mulcahy and co-anchor Megan Coleman took their places behind the anchor desk. Viewers across Central New York would see stories about the aquarium project, the fatal apartment fire, and the weather moving through the region. They would not see the reporting behind the broadcast: the conversations, the follow-up questions, and the work that continued long after the editorial meeting ended.

By the next morning, those stories would begin giving way to new ones. The work of local journalism, however, is not to chase novelty. It is to help a community understand what happened, what can be verified, and why it matters. The questions would return the next afternoon. So would the newsroom. For nearly four decades, so has Matt Mulcahy.

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