This biography was written to inform the scientific public and the recipients of the John Holland Martin Award, bestowed upon researchers in the aquatic science discipline, who have produced works of lasting significance. It is the wish of the Association for the Sciences of Limnology and Oceanography (ASLO) to recognize individuals whose insights have been tested by time and whose works have endured. This biography seeks to illuminate the life and qualities of the individual for whom this award is named. John Martin's career trajectory was characterized by several expansive and contractive episodes. For his Master of Science thesis, he focused on microscopic taxonomic details, sometimes even counting the hairs on the legs of copepods in order to understand how the community was built. For his Doctor of Philosophy, he expanded his findings out to nutrient cycling within Narragansett Bay. In Panama, his quest took him deeper to determine the tiny levels of trace metals in biota and water. At Moss Landing Marine Laboratories (MLML), Martin further submerged himself into the small details to give the big implications of his work, credible relevance. With the tools developed at MLML, Martin, together with his students and colleagues, began to fill in the blank spaces in the periodic table of the sea, reporting for the first time, the concentrations of silver, zinc, mercury, iron, manganese, and their behavior in the oceans. The VERTEX program, brought relevance to these tiny elemental concentrations by relating trace metals such as iron and copper, to carbon and climate. The Iron Hypothesis, in particular, linked sub-picograms of iron to many petagrams of carbon, spanning over 30 orders of magnitude. His ability to reconcile seemingly disparate concepts across multiple scales and dimensions helped him to imagine the workings of the oceans and galvanized his scientific thinking into a picture that bridged connections across disciplines and built seemingly unrelated observations into new and enduring paradigms. John Martin. Photo courtesy of Martin Family. Because falsification is a hallmark of the scientific method, no scientist escapes criticism, and few concepts in science endure, un-tampered by others. Yet, there are occasional sparks of insight and understanding, so provocative and yet true, that a new picture of the natural world is revealed and this new vision persists for quite some time. In their infancy, these new visions will draw attention, controversy and even rage. As the truth persists, the insight is followed by begrudging acceptance and ultimately we all believe these paradigms, or truths, to be our own. Such landmarks provide the touchstones of our discipline that, in many cases, change the course of scientific thinking. The Martin award is given to a paper that has endured the specter of scientific critique and has been identified as such a touchstone. In the preparation of this biography we ask: What are the qualities of such an enduring paper and the person who wrote it? What can we learn from the life of the man who is known for such insightful thinking? How did his life give context to his own inspiration? There are as many examples of this inspiration as there are recipients of this award, for the trajectory of science is adjusted in as many ways as inspiration strikes. This award honors those who have contributed formidably in this regard and this biography documents the life of one identified by ASLO, as the inspiration for the award itself. So, how do we, as scientists, be receptive to such inspiration? In this biography, we suggest that in John Martin's life, inspiration appears to be through intellect, fellowship, conversation, adversity, acceptance, and perseverance, motivated by a strong sense of humor, the willingness to “think big” and a competitive spirit. Herein lies the story of a man overcoming the constraints of physical incapacity and scientific obscurity to be recognized as the author of one of the three greatest achievements in oceanography over the last 50 years. On 27 February 1935, the world gained an internationally renowned oceanographer. A series of unlikely events would change the trajectory of this young person until fate sealed his course and his scientific career burned brightly, and all too quickly across the oceans. John Holland Martin was born in the town of Old Lyme, Connecticut. He spent his early childhood in this prerevolutionary war town, with its unspoiled wetlands, forests, and the Connecticut River as his playground. Influenced by his parents, Chester and Lucile, avid environmentalists, he developed an early appreciation for the natural world. Chester Martin, who grew up on a farm in Orange, Massachusetts, obtained both a Bachelor and a Master of Science degree in forestry. He taught at the University of Maine for several years before moving to Old Lyme to start a nursery. He enjoyed duck hunting, and often took his son with him. During these trips they talked a great deal about nature and the importance of its preservation. Martin respected his father immensely and the values instilled in him would sustain an ethic of practical environmentalism throughout his life. John Martin as a young child, Old Lyme Connecticut, 1936. Photo courtesy of Martin Family. As a child, Martin's other role model was his brother in law Larry Raisz, who married Martin's older sister, Helen, when Martin was 11-year old. Larry, an only child, embraced his new younger brother. Martin, in turn, idolized Larry, who would become his most trusted friend. Larry was a medical doctor, and always emphasized an appreciation for science. When Martin was 13-year old, Larry and Helen brought him with them to Maine for a summer, where they lived on a cove in Bar Harbor. Here, Martin gained exposure to the marine environment, and developed a fondness for Maine, to which he would later return for college. The Martin's valued knowledge as an essential aspect of democracy. They were considered progressive and concerned about social issues such as civil rights. Chester Martin often spoke of what he called the “aristocracy of the intellect.” The Martin clan had a great respect for knowledge and intellectual curiosity. Despite his family's emphasis on education, Martin was not terribly interested in academics as a child. Martin grew to be a striking young man, fit, and nimble. Although he did well enough in school, he focused his competitive nature on athletics, and after graduating from high school he attended Colby College in Waterville, Maine, where he was on the football team, played tennis and swam competitively. Martin loved college life, but not for all the reasons his parents espoused. Martin was a “solid B student.” His brilliance, together with his lackluster grades, were to influence the admission criteria at the graduate school he would later direct. At Colby, Martin preferred to spend his daytime playing sports and his evenings smoking, drinking, and playing bridge in his underwear, with his college buddies. His happy life was interrupted at the beginning of his sophomore year, when he became severely ill and was admitted to health services with strange symptoms. He awoke, unsure of where he was or what was wrong, to hear some startling news on his bedside radio. The local station announced that the football game scheduled for that evening had been canceled due to the hospitalization of one of its star players who had been diagnosed with polio and the team was in quarantine. The star player was Martin. Poliomyelitis is a viral infection that causes paralysis, and with the paralysis of the diaphragm muscle, patients lose the ability to breathe. In the 1950s, when Martin was diagnosed, some patients recovered, many remained paralyzed. For Martin, the virus had robbed him of the ability to breathe and he spent some time in an iron lung, witnessing the harsh triage performed by a desperate nursing staff in the management of this impossible epidemic. Iron lungs were few and many were afflicted. On one occasion, he witnessed the surreptitious unplugging of the ventilation apparatus of his chamber mate next to him. The man was one with whom Martin would chat, regularly, but was one who was not showing signs of improvement. Without an operational chamber, his friend perished quickly. Martin did eventually recover enough to breathe on his own, but was shaken by this. As soon as he was stable, at the recommendation of his brother in law, Larry, Martin was transferred to Boston Children's Hospital as it offered state-of-the-art care and was closer to his family. He remained there for nearly 9 months. By the time he was discharged he had regained full use of his arms yet his legs remained paralyzed. After returning home to his parents' house in Old Lyme, Martin had some trouble adjusting to his limited mobility. His clothes no longer fit his withered body, his life's ambitions had been dashed and he could not even dress himself. In frustration one day, he complained to his parents. Looking at their faces, he then realized what a toll his illness had taken on them. They had aged 20 years in 9 months, his father's hair had turned white. Martin vowed never to feel sorry for himself again. With a newfound determination, he returned to Colby and finished his bachelor's degree. His fraternity brothers were extremely supportive upon his return, taking turns pushing his wheelchair (off of and into snow banks) and keeping his spirits high. With their help, and that of his family, he graduated three years later, only one year behind schedule. Upon completing his bachelor's degree, Martin was faced with a tough decision. His athletic career and plans to join the military were obviously at an end, and he needed a new passion to which he could dedicate his competitive and ambitious nature. His father suggested graduate school at the University of Rhode Island, and he enrolled in their graduate program in zoology. He approached his new field with as much determination as he had applied to everything else in his life. Martin began his master's degree at the University of Rhode Island in 1959 where he analyzed seasonal abundance of zooplankton in Narragansett Bay, Rhode Island. His master's advisor was the renowned David M. Pratt. Martin collected plankton every other week for three years, eventually collecting 126 samples, identifying over 55 species occupied Narragansett Bay on a yearly basis. Some of these were resident and others were temporary planktonic forms. Foreshadowing of his later scientific endeavors, he concluded that zooplankton grazing limited phytoplankton growth in summer and fall, yet ammonia excreted by zooplankton and decomposition provided much needed nutrients for the phytoplankton in fall and early winter. He would live to falsify this paradigm in some open ocean systems. His masters thesis work of 1964 was published in Limnology and Oceanography in 1965 (Vol. 10, No. 2, April 1965, pp. 185–191), but perhaps the most important aspect of this effort was the beginning of Martin's ability to pick apart the players in the pelagic, identifying interactions and the flow of energy and nutrients both cycling within and passing through the ecosystem. Upon completion of his degree, his work earned the Sigma Xi Master Thesis Award to acknowledge his outstanding dissertation in the natural science field. Once more my sheaf of songs I tie, And bid them gleefully good-bye, And feel it will not give me pain, To never look on them again. With metronomic measure I, Have best them out beneath the sky. And though my facile rhyme I curse, Sometimes I think they might be worse; But anyway, as in the past, I vow that they will be my last. John Martin at the gangway of a research vessel (circa 1964). Photo courtesy of Martin Family. After the completion of his Ph.D., Martin began an unlikely postdoctoral position at the Puerto Rico Nuclear Center that would again change the course of his career. In 1965, U.S. President Lyndon B. Johnson commissioned the Atomic Energy Commission (AEC) and the U.S. Army Corps of Engineers to determine the feasibility and cost of using thermonuclear devices to excavate a new sea level Panama Canal that would preclude the necessity for large freshwater diversion. It would be wide enough to accommodate the newer and larger supertankers and container ships. The newly formed commission overseeing the “Plowshare Project” envisioned a string of 2, 5, and 15 megaton nuclear bombs detonated at various depths to excavate the new sea level canal without all the inconvenience of malaria and other jungle diseases that plagued and killed tens of thousands of workers during the French and American attempts at the original construction. This seemed to be an ultimate Army Corps of Engineers project: Sever the continents in 6 milliseconds. With no small measure of skepticism, Martin and 50 other scientists investigated the potential biological impacts of nuclear detonations on the biota and landscape of Panama. Martin's task was to evaluate the detonations impact on the marine ecosystem. He spent his days aboard a chartered fishing boat, collecting sediment samples, and conducting plankton tows. The quantification of metal levels was based on gamma spectrum analysis following neutron activation using the research reactor in Puerto Rico. Other than a long list of obvious drawbacks to this plan, the line of investigative reasoning was that, upon thermonuclear fission, stable elements in biological systems become radioactive through fast neutron activation, or subsequent bioaccumulation of radionuclides in the form of fallout, watershed and seawater contamination, and thus could negatively impact ecosystem services, and human health via contaminated fish. The study required Martin to determine the natural levels of metals and elements with a high neutron cross sectional area, in marine biological systems, sediments, and water. This change would ultimately shift his career from a zooplankton biologist to a trace metals expert and biogeochemist. It was at the contingent's base camp on Boca Grande Island, Panama that colleague Scott Fowler first encountered John Martin. Fowler, a student at Oregon State University, had taken time off from his predoctoral fellowship research at the Hanford Nuclear Facility, where he studied zinc isotopes in euphausiids. Fowler's work on the Plowshare Project was on the freshwater side, collecting samples from the terrestrial ecosystems for neutron activation analysis; Martin's was on the saltwater side. After a hard day's work, the science crews would convene for nightly gatherings on the back of the fishing boat that Martin chartered, to exchange information and conversation. “We had some very interesting discussions on that fantail over some beers and other tropical beverages. It was a very enjoyable time for me” says Fowler. These informal chats were the beginning of many successful scientific endeavors, bringing radiochemists into Martin's intellectual world and ultimately Scott and his colleague, Larry Small (OSU) to the VERTEX Program. In spite of the absurdity of this project, both Fowler and Martin were learning (and drinking) a lot. It was after a public hearing by the commission that the United States eventually abandoned their nuclear excavation plans. None of the science had ever looked promising, yet it was the plan for evacuating the residents of the Panamanian isthmus and northern Columbia that sealed the deal. In a public meeting, the Commission presented their findings. When the Commission was asked how the residents and native peoples would be protected from the detonations, the Army Corps responded that they would send jeeps to drive through the jungle and announce the impending explosions over a bull horn, air-raid style. Some of the participants pointed out that few of the natives spoke Spanish. Many spoke several undocumented native languages, none of which had the vocabulary to describe nuclear annihilation. Furthermore, there was no plan for accommodation of these people and the “roads” did not lead to their remote jungle communities. At this, the stakeholders rose and walked out of the meeting. The Plowshare Project was dead. This would not be the last time Martin would be involved in science in service of society, but this was the last time he followed such an effort. The next time he led it. Even though the Plowshare Project was pretty much an adventure in whacky engineering, whacky engineering would again enter his sights and the Panama experience was priceless. The data and insights gained from his years in Panama shaped not only Martin but also many of the other scientists who knew him, and it was here in Central America, that he would meet his wife, Marlene. Martin was sitting at his desk in his office in Puerto Rico in 1967 and a beautiful, young, dark haired, and energetic American woman, came in wanting to speak with a marine biologist who knew why there were not enough fish in the local bays and coastal regions. She was directed and persistent, idealistic, demanding, and trying to save the world. Marlene was training in Puerto Rico as a Peace Corps volunteer and was assigned to report about the plight of the fishing community, the lack of fish, and the poverty they were experiencing as a result. Martin was smitten and weak in the knees and thoughts about plankton floated away as they chatted. The dynamic between them was born here where passion and commitment ruled that day. As it turned out, Marlene was the one living the life of poverty, her laundry had piled up and Martin had a washer and dryer at his condo and he was a witty conversationalist. Martin may not be able to make more fish to satisfy the fishermen, but perhaps they could strike a deal that would satisfy each other. He was kind and helpful and knew from the moment she walked into his office, that he was going to marry her. After their Laundromat romance, Marlene went off to teach for the Peace Corps in Honduras, but it was now John Martin who was persistent. In 1969, they were married in Carmel Valley, California. The bay of Monterey appears not unlike that of Naples. There is the same long curving beach, broken with rocky points, the clear blue water, and the same setting of half tropical vegetation, although the mountainous background is lacking. The climate is here less variable than at Naples; the temperature remains almost constant throughout the year, each day averaging about 60ºF., and during six of the months outdoor life is not interrupted by rain. Although Hopkins was opened in 1892, Stanford had yet to place any faith in the little lab that was hours away from the well-established University. As any academic administrator knows all too well, marine laboratories are where the faculty “go native” and management is impossible. The emphasis in the biological sciences at R-1 Universities was in physiology and biochemistry, but Hopkins was full of naturalists. “They didn't know what to do with us,” recalls Dr. Bruce Robison, who was a Ph.D. student of Martin's at the time. He is now a Senior Scientist at Monterey Bay Aquarium Research Institute (MBARI). Far from the main campus, there was considerable academic freedom yet little in the way of institutional stability. In the late 60s and early 70s, Hopkins, as elsewhere, was enveloped in the cultural haze of social change and the Vietnam War. This led to revolutions in culture and new thinking, which Martin embraced. He oversaw multiple graduate students while he was a faculty member at Hopkins. He constantly challenged them with thoughtful questions and was confident that they would rise to the occasion intellectually, and many of them did. He knew something about overcoming personal challenges and he expected no less from his students. With him as a role model, they expected more of themselves. He could be tough with them at times, but it was simply because he maintained high expectations for his students. Yet, with this toughness came compassion, which he dished out with equal measure on both sides of the petri dish. “When I think of John, I think of laughing,” Bruce remarked jovially. The practice of research was like a sport in many ways, and in a competitive setting, in an underdog institution such as Hopkins, Martin felt he was back in his game. Yet, the students were not going to be casualties in his game. Laughter and inspiration were also metrics of performance. He was there for his students and the competition and humor made them better scientists. Still uncertain of what Hopkins was to the University, the administrators at Stanford began weighing their options. Then, word spread of Stanford University wanting to close Hopkins Marine Station, thus, forcing the Martins' decision to move. At the last minute, the Del Monte family gave Stanford $9 million to keep Hopkins open, but the laboratory was to change its main focus from Oceanography and Marine Biology to Neurophysiology. To maintain the appearance as a marine station, Hopkins faculty and students “looked at a flatworm in the intertidal every once in a while,” recalled Jim Kelley, former Dean of the Science Department at San Francisco State University (SFSU) and member of the board at MLML at the time. Martin's trepidation about staying at Hopkins was further amplified with the birth of the Martin's first son Ian in 1972. The need to provide greater stability forced his hand. Marlene (from Michigan) and Martin (a New England boy) discussed either moving back to Martin's native New England, or making a go of it on the west coast. Ultimately, they chose to stay on the central coast of California. Marlene remembers Martin as “very community-minded,” and he loved living on the Monterey peninsula. The close-knit community reminded him of his childhood and growing up in Old Lyme. As the Martins established themselves in Monterey County, Martin started looking for new opportunities in an oceanographic discipline. Soon after he found Moss Landing Marine Laboratories (MLML) his family added a second son, Andrew. The Moss Landing Marine Laboratories was a growing marine facility and graduate program serving a consortium of California State University campuses throughout northern and central California, including San Francisco State University (SFSU). Appointment here could present the stability that he sought for his family, so he applied for a faculty position at the lab through SFSU. Jim Kelley remembers when Martin came to SFSU for the interview: “From the first time I met him, I knew he was a respected colleague” says Kelley. Initially, Kelley was unsure “how to pitch John,” to an antiquated and parochial department that needed reorganizing. Kelley was key in the hiring of Martin as a SFSU faculty member, in that he negotiated Martin's retreat rights, which allowed him to continue his employment at SFSU if MLML was closed. In return, SFSU faculty members requested that Martin teach one course at SFSU. The Moss Landing Marine Laboratories was a small institution, far removed from the administrative and bureaucratic encumbrances of the operating campus at San Jose. The “native” culture at MLML was palpable and rich. There was none of the interdepartmental competition between colleagues characteristic of larger institutions. Faculty members were essentially the heads of their own departments defined by their disciplinary interests (geology, phycology, invertebrate zoology, vertebrate ecology, etc.). MLML proved to be a great fit for Martin, as it provided him with academic and intellectual freedom. He was able to bring the grants and equipment he had acquired at Hopkins, pursue his interest in trace metals and phytoplankton, advise and assist graduate students in his and their research. Although there was a general lack of administrative constraints, there was also a general lack of resources. Getting things done required creative ingenuity. Martin began to build a real research team, with sea-going analytical technicians who became more and more indispensable. John Martin (seated) aboard the R/V Cayuse, 1977. Left to right: Jim Cowen (UCSC), Lloyd Kitazono (MLML), John Martin (MLML), Ken Bruland (UCSC), David Bothman (SIO), Bernhard Schaule (CalTech), Kenneth Coale (UCSC). Photo courtesy of John Keiper, Bosun of R/V Cayuse. In spite of Martin's physical limitations, he was an ocean-going scientist. Jim Kelley remembers being on research cruises with Martin: “You're either on the ship or off the ship, when at sea.” By this he distinguished between those who may bring worries about home life to sea and those who are entirely present and attentive to the task at hand. Martin was a scientist who devoted himself completely to each expedition and his team was as well. Another quality that Jim liked about Martin was his conversational ease and sometimes self-deprecating sense of humor. “When you are socialized in the field-oriented disciplines, you can't maintain pretense,” Kelley stated. “Oceanography is the personification of an interdisciplinary science that requires fellowship among colleagues, something John fully comprehended.” Jim continues, “John was a real oceanographer, he knew that you had to understand the whole ocean and the processes affecting it. Everybody wanted to hug a “Flipper” (referring to the popular television show featuring a dolphin, the aquatic version of Lassie), but John knew you've got to study the phytoplankton, too.” Martin was able to share his love of primary producers, as he taught a course at MLML about phytoplankton, with room for fourteen students only. He did not like to teach classes, but he did like to be with students. Sara Tanner, a former student of Martin's, remembers that he would exclaim: “Bring a chair!” to allow more students to join his class. The classroom was brimming every week, and by the second day, he knew precisely what each student wanted to study. He was full of questions and hypotheses for them to investigate. He insisted that his students bring pencils and paper to class so they would be able to draw what they saw and he would relate “stories for every critter” recalls Sara Tanner, his teaching assistant at the time. Always looking to improve his teaching, Martin constantly asked his students for critiques, something that was difficult for the graduate students, as they all adored him and were uncomfortable being critical of one who was so giving. Martin became faculty at a time when the Lab's Director was under pressure to resign and the administration of the lab was in turmoil. The MLML board members insisted that Les Lange, Dean of the College of Science at San Jose State University (SJSU) at the time, step in and make changes. In 1975, Les setup a Director's Administrative Review Committee, whose findings demonstrated that the sitting director was ineffective and lacked support from the faculty and the Governing Board. In 1977, the board members started a search for a new MLML Director, but realized that they need not look far. Although Martin had only been a faculty member for a short period of time, he was the clear choice. Not only was he motivated and intelligent but it was also clear that he understood the importance of fellowship and interdisciplinary discourse in marine science. As an oceanographer, Martin appreciated a wide variety of disciplines, argued strongly for a vibrant marine operations department and promoted the concept of egalitarian leadership. To make a case for the directorship, Martin presented the board with an Academic Master Plan. The Director and Search Committee unanimously voted to pass the resolution for Martin as Director. Unlike all of his predecessors and subsequent appointments, Martin only accepted a half time administrative appointment as Director. As such he was free of his teaching obligations and as a part-time position, this allowed him to make time to pursue grants and his own research. As Director, Martin was “completely focused on the future of marine science,” according to Jim Kelley. He understood the importance of an established field station, as it would “get people out into the world,” says Kelley. Martin would start his day by handing paperwork off to his assistants together will all other administrative responsibilities not requiring his personal attention. His office was facing the seashore separated only by a seawall. “Sand would drift into John's office, and he loved it there” recalls Dave Karl, professor of oceanography at the University of Hawaii and current Director of the Center for Microbial Oceanography: Research & Education (C-MORE). Another distinguishing aspect of the transition was that the former Director was said to have had a 0.45 in his drawer and Playboy magazines on the desk, whereas Martin had dog treats in his drawer and scientific manuscripts, books and a typewriter on his desk. The change in leadership culture was palpable and refreshing. Martin enjoyed “walking” around the lab on his crutches and checking in on everyone. He was curious about the science in which everyone was participating. He would then leave the lab every afternoon to swim, an example of his need to constantly be active and to battle the damage sustained from polio. The routine provided him with great upper body strength, although his legs were weak. If he had something to grab onto, be it a ship's railing, a nearby colleague, or the back of a chair, he could get around. He thrived when he pushed himself. Martin had demonstrated that big science, big thinking and big ideas were not the purview of big institutions alone. Funding from large agencies was possible, even for such a small laboratory, and a stronger underdog research culture began to emerge. This was exciting to some faculty, but a bit intimidating for others and utterly intoxicating for the students. Funding from