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One of the scary experiences I had at the Parc Lincoln occurred at this door. As you can see, there is only one paltry lock on the door, so I imagine even a gentle, swift kick from outside would bust the door open.
One morning at about 3am I heard somebody trying to open the door. The effort was not forceful but it shook the door pretty well.
I woke up and stepped to the door to ask who was there, and what was going on. There is no peephole on the door, but at the time this happened there was an opening in the door where a lock used to be. That opening used to be where the extra-white splotch of white paint is in this picture, on the door directly to the right of the intercom. I looked through that opening and saw what appeared to be en elderly woman. I shouted "What do you want?" and she seemed startled. I soon realized that she must have gotten off the elevator at the wrong floor, and maybe she lived in room 417 or 217 directly above or below.
Even as it was happening this incident reminded me of the poem Julia's Room, by Robert Hillyer. That poem was part of a book of poetry called Pictures That Storm Inside My Head a book I had carried with me since grade school. I now consider that collection somewhat mawkish, but it nevertheless is a permanent fixture on my shelf. If you want to read Julia's Room you can point your mouse at the Intercom in this picture.
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