To use the first journalism cliches that come to mind, I am shocked, dismayed and appalled.
The last thing a journalist, dead or alive, ought to do is have something other than a journalism school or barstool named after him or her.
All I can say is that if the road bears any resemblance to its namesake, it will be wide, aimless, self-illuminated and have a bright yellow stripe down its middle.
I believe in fairness, so I ask on behalf the past week's newly dead:
Where is the Tony Snow Roundabout? The Patricia Buckley Bozell Far Right-of-Way? The Michael DeBakey Quadruple Bypass?
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