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John Holland Martin: From Picograms to Petagrams and Copepods to Climate: The Class of MS 280, Moss Landing Marine Laboratories

2016; Wiley; Volume: 25; Issue: 2 Linguagem: Inglês

10.1002/lob.10078

1539-6088

Kenneth H. Coale, Alicia Bitondo, Suzanne Christensen, Catherine Drake, Will Fennie, Stephen Loiacono, Gabriela Navas, Gillian Rhett, Kristin Walovich, April L Woods, Sara Worden,

Isotope Analysis in Ecology

MS 280, Scientific Writing. Instructor: Kenneth Coale Students: Alicia Bitondo, Suzanne Christensen, Catherine Drake, Will Fennie, Stephen Loiacono, Gabriela Navas, Gillian Rhett, Kristin Walovich, April Woods, Sara Worden John Martin's career trajectory was punctuated and then cut short by tragedy, yet his works have endured. His scientific focus was characterized by several expansive and contractive episodes. For his M.S., he focused on microscopic taxonomic details, to understand how the pelagic community was built. For his Ph.D., he expanded his findings out to nutrient cycling within Narragansett Bay. In postdoctoral quest took him deeper to determine the tiny levels of trace metals in biota and water. During his early career, Martin submerged himself into the small details to give the big implications of his work, credible relevance. Martin and colleagues, began to fill in the blank spaces in the periodic table of the sea, reporting for the first time, the concentrations of several elements, and their behavior in the oceans. The VERTEX program in general, and the Iron Hypothesis, in particular, linked sub-picograms of iron to many petagrams of carbon, spanning over 30 orders of magnitude in quantity and affect. 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 Holland Martin. Photo credit: The 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. In the preparation of this biography we ask: What are the qualities of such enduring concepts and the person who conceived them? 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 and how do we be receptive to such inspiration? In this biography, we suggest that in John Martin's life, inspiration appears to be through intellect, fellowship, adversity, acceptance, and perseverance, a strong sense of humor, the willingness to “think big” and a competitive spirit. Herein lies a story of a man overcoming the constraints of physical incapacity and mediocre school grades, to be recognized as the author of one of the three greatest achievements in oceanography over the last 50 yr. On 27 February 1935, in Old Lyme Connecticut, the world gained an internationally renowned oceanographer: John Holland Martin. 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. He spent his early childhood in this pre-revolutionary war town, with its unspoiled wetlands, forests, and the Connecticut River as his playground. Influenced by his parents, Chester and Lucile, he developed an early appreciation for the natural world. John's father, 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 and Martin developed an ethic of practical environmentalism that would sustain him throughout his life. In this regard, Chester Martin was a prominent role model. Martin's other role model was his brother-in-law Larry Raisz, a medical doctor, who always emphasized an appreciation for science. The Martin's valued knowledge as an essential aspect of democracy and intellectual curiosity an essential quality of the electorate. 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. Martin was a “solid B student.” 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 ill and was admitted to the infirmary with strange symptoms. He awoke disoriented to hear some startling news on his bedside radio: 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. John Martin as a young child, Old Lyme Connecticut, 1936. Photo credit: The Martin Family. In the 1950s, when Martin was diagnosed, the prognosis was uncertain. For Martin, the virus robbed him of the ability to breathe and he was transferred to an iron lung, enduring the triage performed by a desperate nursing staff in the management of this epidemic. On one occasion, he witnessed the unplugging of the ventilation apparatus of his chamber mate next to him. Without an operational chamber, his friend perished quickly, and another took his place. Martin did eventually recover enough to breathe on his own, but was shaken by his experience. At the recommendation of his brother in law, Larry, Martin was transferred to Boston Children's Hospital. By the time he was discharged, he had regained full use of his arms yet his legs remained paralyzed. Martin had some trouble adjusting to his new condition. 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 realized what a toll his illness had taken on them. They had aged 20 yr in 9 months and his father's hair had turned white. Martin vowed never to feel sorry for himself again. With a newfound determination, he returned to Colby to finish his Bachelor's degree, his fraternity brothers, taking turns pushing his wheelchair (off of and into snow banks) and keeping his spirits high. With their help he graduated only 1 yr behind schedule. On completing his BA, Martin was faced with a tough decision. His athletic career and plans to join the military were at an end, and he needed a new passion to feed his competitive, inquisitive, 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 this new field with as much determination as he applied to everything else in his life. Martin began his Master's degree program at the University of Rhode Island in 1959. Martin collected plankton every other week for 3 yr, eventually collecting 126 samples, identifying over 55 species that occupied Narragansett Bay on a yearly basis. Some of these were resident and others were temporary planktonic forms. 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. His Masters Thesis work of 1964 was published in Limnology and Oceanography in 1965, 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. His work earned the Sigma Xi Master's Thesis Award to acknowledge his outstanding dissertation in the natural sciences. Martin continued his research at URI's Narragansett Marine Laboratories studying phytoplankton–zooplankton relationships, specifically investigating the seasonal importance of zooplankton grazing and nutrient excretion. While his Master's thesis took him 5 yr, his experience allowed Martin to complete his Ph.D. in a brief 2 yr. By then he had had enough of graduate school. In 1965, U.S. President 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 and Martin began an unlikely postdoctoral position at the Puerto Rico Nuclear Center. The canal would be wide enough to accommodate the newer and larger supertankers and container ships and eliminate the current freshwater diversion used to manage the locks. The commission overseeing the “Plowshare Project” envisioned a string of 2, 5, and 15 megaton nuclear bombs detonated at various depths to excavate the 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 direction of the original construction. This seemed to be an ultimate Army Corps of Engineers project: Sever the continents in 6 ms. Other than a long list of obvious drawbacks to this plan, the line of investigative reasoning was that, on detonation, 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 of the natural levels of metals and elements in plankton, 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 base camp on Boca Grande Island, Panama that Scott Fowler first encountered John Martin. Fowler's work on the Plowshare Project was on the freshwater side, collecting samples from the terrestrial ecosystems; 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. “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. John Martin at the gangway of a research vessel (circa 1964). Photo Credit: The Martin Family. After a public hearing by the commission, 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. At this meeting, 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 through the jungle and announce the impending explosions over a bull horn, air-raid style. At this, the stakeholders rose and walked out of the meeting. The Plowshare Project was dead. The data and insights gained from his years in Panama, however, shaped not only Martin, but many of the other scientists who knew him, and it was here in Central America, that he would meet his wife, Marlene. Martin was at his desk in his office in Puerto Rico in 1967 and a beautiful, young, dark haired, 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 and idealistic. 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 thoughts about plankton floated away as they chatted. 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. 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 left to teach for the Peace Corps in Honduras, but it was now John Martin who was persistent. They were married in Carmel Valley, California in 1969. During his research in Panama, Martin's interest in trace metals was kindled. This marked his intellectual transition from megatons to micrograms, and he continued this research at Hopkins Marine Station, Stanford University, located only blocks away from the Marine Pacific Biological Laboratories made famous by John Steinbeck and the “Doc Ricketts” lab on Cannery Row. In 1969, Martin started working as a visiting professor at Hopkins Marine Station and was promoted to assistant professor the next year. The instrumentation at Hopkins was antiquated. An old atomic absorption spectrophotometer was all that Martin had at his disposal. The charm of the Monterey Bay area, however, made up for the lack of sophisticated infrastructure. As any academic administrator knows all too well, marine laboratories are where the faculty “go native” and their management is impossible. The emphasis in the biological sciences at Stanford was in physiology and biochemistry, but Hopkins was full of naturalists. “They did not know what to do with us,” recalls Dr. Bruce Robison, who was a Ph.D. student of Martin's at the time. 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 a faculty member at Hopkins. He constantly challenged them with thoughtful questions because he knew something about overcoming personal challenges and he expected no less from his students. Yet, with this toughness came compassion, which he dished out with equal measure. “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. He was there for his students and the competition and humor made them better scientists. But he was also there for the fun. The word spread that Stanford University was to close Hopkins Marine Station, thus forcing the Martins’ decision to move. At the last minute, a large donation allowed Stanford to keep Hopkins open, but the laboratory changed 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 (from New England) discussed moving back to New England, or making a go of it on the west coast. 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 setting and 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 at MLML. In return, Martin was to 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 and the academic and research freedom was familiar and suited Martin. 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 indispensable. Martin became faculty at a time when administration of the lab was in turmoil. The MLML board members insisted that the Dean of the College of Science at San Jose State University (SJSU), set up an Administrative Review Committee. The 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 time, he was the clear choice. Not only was he motivated and intelligent but also 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. Accepting only a half time salary position, Martin would start his day by handing paperwork off to his assistants together will all other administrative responsibilities not requiring his personal attention and devote the rest of his day to research. 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). More faculty and students began to drift in as well due to Martin's open door policy. 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 reforming. Martin enjoyed “walking” around the lab on his crutches and checking in on everyone. 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. 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 strong underdog research culture began to emerge. This was exciting to some faculty, a bit intimidating for others and utterly intoxicating for the students. Funding from NSF and ONR, as well as state agencies began to pour into MLML. From his collaboration with Ed Goldberg (SIO) and the National Musselwatch Program, Martin established the State Musselwatch Program. A research division within MLML was born, and others jumped on board. This only encouraged Martin and others he inspired, and validated the concept of “going native.” George Knauer, first met Martin during his Ph.D studies in Biological Sciences at Hopkins Marine Station. Knauer had subsequently taken a faculty position at Florida State University in Tallahassee and in 1975, a Visiting Research Scientist position at the Australian Institute of Marine Science, Townsvelle, Australia. Knauer had interests both in trace elements and radionuclides, having directed the radiocarbon dating facility at FSU. Martin was able to coax Knauer away from his Research Scientist position with an Associate Research Scientist position at Moss Landing Marine Laboratories. The two were “joined at the hip” as Knauer would say, but not without their differences, nor disagreements. There was constant scientific banter between them, which mesmerized and energized their students. In spite of their competitiveness and individual interests, they together coauthored 33 papers, the majority of which fell within a narrow 10-yr period. It was as if they each challenged themselves to think bigger than the other. Knauer was the perfect colleague as well as a formidable foil for Martin's ideas. During this time, both their careers exploded. From Martin's came the Iron Hypothesis, and for Knauer's came first the Directorship of the Marine Science Program at the University of Southern Mississippi, and then ultimately, Christian service, and for both of them came the VERTEX program. 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 credit: John Keiper and Ken Bruland. John Martin at the “Old Lab” Moss Landing, CA (circa 1988). Photo credit: The Martin Family. The development and leadership of the VERtical Transport and EXchange program (VERTEX) raised the profile of MLML to the international level and established Martin as prominent and accomplished oceanographer. More importantly, it demonstrated that an integrated multi-institutional, multidisciplinary program could develop a clearer, more natural understanding of marine processes. VERTEX, as an NSF funded program, was not approved until 1980, yet discussions concerning phytoplankton/zooplankton interactions, nutrient cycling, and trace metals had been occurring between Martin and fellow colleagues since 1967, informed by the Plowshare project. These discussions, usually outside the lab and around drinks, laid the foundation for the questions VERTEX sought to answer. VERTEX was conceived at a time when people like Ken Bruland (UCSC), Ed Boyle (MIT), and Martin's own lab at MLML were beginning to adopt and apply the techniques of Clair Patterson (CalTech), revolutionize the detection of trace elements in the oceans. Dave Karl (UH), a recent Ph.D. from Ozzie Holm-Hansen's lab at Scripps was blazing a path through the microbial loop, using unique tracer methods to characterize rates of microbial production. The discovery of Synechococcus by John Waterbury (WHOI) doubled our estimate of the photosynthetic biomass of the oceans in 1979. (It was doubled again in 1988 with the discovery of Prochlorococcus by Penny Chisholm of MIT). New radiochemical techniques had just been developed to track particle removal in the oceans and the now ubiquitous public clamor over climate change was only an interesting idea discussed between colleagues. John Martin saw this developing environment as an opportunity for tackling the large oceanographic questions of the day. As an eclectic scientist with broad interests, he built an ecosystem of diverse scientists. His sense of egalitarianism compelled him to scribe the limits of the VERTEX program large enough to draw his competitors in. This was particularly the case for Ken Bruland's and Mary Silver's group at UCSC. With their involvement, healthy competition, collegiality, and extremely high standards would be assured for the program. The Martin Family, Carmel Valley circa 1983. Photo credit: The Martin Family. The R/V Point Sur departing Moss Landing Harbor, May 2002. Photo credit: Kenneth Coale. Fellow VERTEX researcher Dr. Scott Fowler of the International Laboratory of Marine Radioactivity, Monoco said “John Martin was a visionary at the genius level.” Yet he was also humble and “ecumenical” in his approach to problems. One hallmark of the VERTEX program was the use of sediment traps. Under Martin's and Knauer's direction, the MLML team developed the Multiple Particle Interceptor Traps: Multi PITS, or “PITS” for short. These consisted of multiple 10 cm diameter baffled tubes oriented vertically on a PVC cross, deployed at a series of depths. The design was based on the collection of multiple samples per depth so that, not only was there statistical replication, but the tubes themselves could be constructed of custom materials, preserved with specific compounds and most importantly, they could be given away to other researchers for their own analyses (trace metals, POC, radionuclides, ATP, etc.). Cindy Lee, VERTEX participant and organic geochemist now at Stony Brook recently compiled a list of publications from the VERTEX program (http://www.bco-dmo.org/project/2175) in which she finds over 150 publications and about 20 student theses (Masters and Doctorates) were completed due to participation in this program which cost $4.2 million over 10 yr. This was perhaps the most cost-effective and highly productive program that NSF has ever funded in oceanography. National Academy of Science inductee and member of VERTEX, Dr. David Karl, sums up the importance of the program by stating that in his 300 plus publications, his most cited paper was one he coauthored with John Martin titled, “VERTEX: carbon cycling in the northeast Pacific.” More important than the citation and publication count, the information gained from VERTEX lead to the better understanding of the upper ocean and how materials are transported into, out of, and recycled back into this zone. One of the most cited paper from the project described the flux of particulate organic carbon (POC) through the water column. Martin and colleagues found that POC flux was similar throughout the open ocean and derived a simple equation that described the POC flux as a function of depth. This is now known as “The Martin Equation.” Finally, in John Martin style, they applied this rate to the entire open ocean and estimated global ocean productivity to be 42 Gt C per year, 50% of which is recycled in the upper 300 m of water (Martin et al. 1987). The VERTEX program demonstrated that large joint research programs are not only feasible, but can also be very successful. John Martin's ability to view problems from multiple perspectives was a great asset, not only to his science, but also to MLML. Martin realized that there was a huge gap in the coverage of the Nation's fleet of research vessels as coordinated by the University National Oceanographic Laboratory System (UNOLS). At this time, several large universities with oceanographic programs were the home to the majority of the UNOLS vessels. Yet, from Martin's position on the UNOLS Council, he had a bird's eye view of the research fleet. Martin, with the help of his former student and now colleague Bruce Robison, showed that the majority of requests for ship time came from scientists who did not have access to the ships, not the large operating universities who ran them. This grated against Martin's sense of fairness so he and Bruce Robison lobbied for more equitable distribution of these vessels. The Monterey Bay was becoming a powerhouse of oceanography. At the time, the closest UNOLS vessels were located at Scripps Institution of Oceanography and Oregon State University, a two-day steam from Monterey. MLML's recent track record of important oceanographic research (including VERTEX) made it an ideal institution to operate a regional class vessel. The University of Miami, one of the largest UNOLS operators, ran three research vessels and was having trouble maintaining all of them. Together, Martin and Robison lobbied NSF through the UNOLS Council, arguing that Miami's R/V Cape Florida was a national resource and should be deployed where it was needed most. They eventually persuaded NSF to reallocate the vessel to Moss Landing where it was renamed the R/V Point Sur. John Martin had an exceptional ability to go into situations as an underdog and challenge the status quo. By thinking logically and making detailed arguments, Martin was able to take on deep-seated traditions in both oceanography and in programs like UNOLS and change them. Never before had a research vessel been “taken” from one institution and reassigned to another. Perhaps Martin was so convincing because he had overcome such impossible personal adversity that he exuded credibility, even for the incredible. Who was NSF to say that this could not be done? The R/V Point Sur went on to be what many consider the most effective and efficient