On a cool February morning in 1967, Navy diver Bob Croft packed his lungs with air and plunged into the Atlantic, descending more than 200 feet without a mask, fins or scuba tank.
By most measures, Mr. Croft was a physical specimen — a barrel-chested former submariner with the fortitude of a gladiator and the lung capacity of a dolphin. He could hold his breath for more than six minutes and claimed to benefit from a childhood case of rickets, which had softened his bones and, in his telling, helped him expand his rib cage.
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