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In 1966, Dave Davenport was a mystery to his fellow U.S. Air Force clerks on Okinawa. Whereas they would dress up in their finest threads and make for the clubs of Koza in their free time, Davenport would don the oldest clothes he owned and jump on a local bus heading into the middle of nowhere.

When he returned from these unexplained trips, he wouldn’t be lipstick-stained or smelling of perfume. Instead, he’d be covered in mud and carrying dirt-covered objects he’d hide safely out of sight in his locker.

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