Belgium (Brussels Morning Newspaper), To describe Martin Litton’s Belgian World War II experience as a fearless, high stakes, “all-or-nothing” adventure would not be an overstatement. To call Litton merely “larger than life” would be an understatement. Dismissing these traits simply as those of a brave youthful warrior would be a fallacy. Litton’s prowess displayed on Belgian soil (1944) would carry over to the rest of his life where he would fight another war…a very different war. It may be difficult to commingle the Battle of the Bulge with America’s environmental movement, but Martin was able to do just that. Consider…
On the eve of World War II, California-born Martin Litton was a young aviator in the United States Army Air Corps. He had hopes of becoming a fighter pilot but was denied due to color blindness. Determined to fly in some capacity Litton did the next best thing available to him— he became a glider pilot. As the war in Europe intensified, motorless cargo gliders became an integral part of the Allied front-line strategy.
These gliders were crude, fragile transport machines fashioned from steel -tubing covered with canvas. They featured no weaponry, no armor to protect them against enemy fire, and were unable to take evasive action. Yet, weighted down with equipment, troops, ammunition, and medical supplies, the gliders flew behind German lines directly into combat zones. They were known as “flying coffins” as casualties were extremely high (believed to be over 50%). The pilots were lauded as “the most uninhibited individuals in the army.’’ Litton personified this maxim.
In May of 1944 Litton was deployed to the coast of England where he and other glider pilots launched their “flying coffins” into Northern France delivering much-needed personnel, weapons, and medical supplies. By August, in an operation called Market Garden, Litton led a formation on a mission to free the Belgian port of Antwerp and parts of the Netherlands from German occupation.
There he landed his glider near Antwerp but was able to make his way 105km back to the English Channel…. all the while on foot, covertly, behind enemy lines. In December the always fearless Litton volunteered to fly ammunition, gasoline, medical staff, and supplies directly into the surrounded Ardennes town of Bastogne (Think: Battle of the Bulge). Litton’s formation suffered heavy losses, but he thankfully survived. His actions did not go unnoticed. Martin would later receive the distinguished Army Air Medal for his act of heroism and “single act of meritorious achievement involving aerial flight.”
After the war, Martin returned to his beloved California and joined the staff of the Los Angeles Times not initially as a journalist. Instead, his early career was in sales which allowed him to travel the length and breadth of California—i.e. The Golden State. He witnessed, and later articulated, how remaining pockets of wilderness were under siege. Litton began to write exposés about what was being done to California’s scenic wonders.
He was a lone voice in noting how vast forests of majestic trees —sugar pines, virgin sequoias, and redwoods—were being decimated under the guise of progress, growth, and profit. To Litton, Californians were destroying their splendid birthright. Without knowing it at the time, Martin Litton was a pioneering voice in “conservation and environmentalism” two words that had not even been coined yet.
Litton’s voice and influence soon extended beyond the borders of California. The United States Bureau of Reclamation is a federal agency responsible for the management and development of water resources and hydroelectric power generation. In 1953 the Bureau unveiled a massive water development plan calling for the construction of six major dams in some of the most pristine and untouched rivers and landscapes in North America. This was especially true in the Colorado River Plateau where for eons its waters carved the otherworldly Grand Canyon. ( Fun Fact: The Grand Canyon stretches for 446 km, is in places 1900 meters deep, and covers a 5,000 sq. km area).
Litton first rafted the Colorado River through the Grand Canyon in 1956 and it forever changed his life. His work as an influential journalist, and photographer and perhaps more importantly his experience as a “hands-on” river runner set off one of the most important wilderness fights in the history of American environmentalism. He became one of the leaders of a campaign to oppose the construction of dams along the Colorado River, especially within the Grand Canyon National Park.
In negotiating in front of a U.S. Congressional Committee, Litton’s cause garnered massive public support. The Bureau was forced to compromise, and the dam project was halved. Enter “conservation” and “environmentalism” into everyday American nomenclature. His success marked the coming of age of American wilderness conservation— all set against a politically motivated national mindset of unlimited growth and profit. Litton had a lifelong association with the Sierra Club which was one of the first large-scale environmental preservation organizations in the world.
Despite his successes as a wilderness advocate, or perhaps because of it, Litton felt most at home white-water raft running a 14–20-day adventure on the Colorado River) through the Grand Canyon. He is best known for his preference for using small wooden boats called “dories” which best captured the essence of the Grand Canyon. He rafted the river for decades afterward and founded Grand Canyon Dories – a commercial river-running enterprise from 1971-1988 that catered to tens of thousands of clients. Martin often said publicly the most influential environmentalists are those people who experienced firsthand the river’s soul and spirit.
It might be a stretch to link Litton’s Belgium war experience with that of an environmental pioneer. Yet when you consider Litton spent three years in Belgium piloting a “flying coffin” into the face of an enemy or his lifetime of promoting environmentalism by guiding the white waters of the Grand Canyon in a small, wooded dory, you might conclude that he was an effective man of action. Litton faced his raison d’etre head on. His demeanor by all accounts was one of single-minded tenacity—frequently inspiring and always exasperating. He lived his life knowing that the preservation of one’s principles and the preservation of the wilderness could be the same.
Litton died in 2014 at the age of 97 years. Rest in peace, Martin.
