Anyone who announces today that Martians once dug canals across the Red Planet can expect the side-eye. A little over a century ago, the same idea came from world-famous astronomers, filled the pages of The Washington Post and The New York Times, and sent the United States Navy to its radios. Believing in Martians, it turns out, is a proud American tradition.
The red one, mapped by math
People have watched Mars for as long as they've watched the sky. The Babylonians, Greeks, Romans and Hindu mythology all tied it to war. The ancient Chinese linked it to war too, along with grief and murder. The Egyptians called it the red one, and the nickname stuck.
In 1867 the English astronomer Richard Proctor drew one of the first maps of Mars, working from other astronomers' sketches. Using drawings that went back to 1666, he calculated the length of a Martian day and came within tenths of a second of the right answer. Proctor pictured Mars with "straggling inland oceans," polar snow that melted and returned with the seasons, heavy rain and thick clouds. He also noted that the planet's lighter gravity would make "a graceful athlete out of even Daniel Lambert," a man famous in his day as the heaviest person on record at over 700 pounds. Lambert didn't overeat and never touched alcohol. Poverty forced him to exhibit himself as a one-man freak show until he died suddenly at 39, probably wishing he were on Mars, where people would leave him alone about his weight.
For a long time Proctor's watery Mars sounded quaint. Then NASA's rovers, none bigger than an SUV, went trundling across the surface and found evidence of a warmer, wetter past. Proctor's ghost gets the last laugh.
One word, lost in translation
In 1877 the Sardinian astronomer Giovanni Schiaparelli spotted long lines on the Martian surface and called them canali, the Italian word for channels. English speakers heard "canals." A channel can form naturally. A canal is something somebody builds. From that one word, the idea of a Martian civilization caught fire. The American astronomer Percival Lowell spent most of his life trying to prove the canali were the work of intelligent beings.
The French astronomer Nicolas Camille Flammarion went further. His 1892 book, The Planet Mars, declared that Mars was inhabited and that Martians depended on melting polar ice, which they collected and sent through their canals to keep themselves alive. Contact was only a matter of time, he argued. Photography had once seemed like impossible magic too, and someday we would talk with what he called "our heavenly neighbors."
That August, Mars was in opposition, meaning Earth sat directly between Mars and the sun, so the planet looked its biggest and brightest and stayed up most of the night. At California's Lick Observatory, home of the world's largest refracting telescope, the astronomer Edward Emerson Barnard aimed its 36-inch lens at Mars and saw lights arranged in a triangle. Some colleagues called it a forest fire. That was an odd claim from people who also insisted Mars had no atmosphere. Newspapers reported odd shapes moving at the south pole and "a big pyramid apparently of human origin and possibly made for signal purposes." By 1894 Flammarion said the burden of proof had flipped: science would now have to prove Mars was not inhabited.
Three taps in Colorado
Nikola Tesla, who arrived in America in 1884 with four cents to his name and later helped Westinghouse turn Niagara Falls into power for Buffalo, was running high-voltage experiments at a lab in Colorado Springs. One evening his receiver picked up "three fairy taps," evenly spaced. In January 1901 the San Francisco Examiner announced that Tesla had taken the first call of the century from a neighboring planet. Tesla wrote that he felt he had been the first to hear one planet greet another. Talking back would be hard, he admitted, but "I have already found a way of doing it." All it needed was a staggering amount of power, the kind only Niagara could supply.
Poverty got there first. Tesla couldn't pay his Colorado bills, and in 1904 the lab was torn down and what was left of it was auctioned off on the courthouse steps.
Belief in Martian civilization wasn't a fringe idea. It grew out of a mistranslated Italian word, top astronomers backed it, and in 1924 the U.S. Navy ordered its radio stations to listen for a call from Mars.
Spirits, mirrors and a balloon
Guglielmo Marconi, the father of radio, scoffed at Tesla in 1901. Then came Princess d'Antuni del Drago, a medium famous for a midnight Christmas séance at her dead husband's grave, who had already won Marconi over to spiritualism. In 1906 an ancient spirit named Artaxas asked her to pass him a message: Mars was calling Earth, and nobody was picking up. Soon Marconi was telling reporters about sounds in his transmissions that seemed like Morse code from deep space.
In 1909 the balloonist Leo Stevens and the Amherst professor David Todd planned to fly to the edge of the atmosphere with oxygen tanks and a powerful wireless set to catch the signal. The launch slipped, the mortified professor found his name tied to Martians in newspapers around the world, and the balloon never went up, which probably saved both their lives. The Harvard astronomer William Henry Pickering proposed a $100,000 array of mirrors, each a quarter mile long, to flash sunlight at Mars. An elderly Frenchwoman left a fortune to the cause.
Psychics joined in. An American medium named Leyson claimed three trips to Mars on the astral plane, traveling in spirit rather than in body, and met hairy giants and wall-climbing creatures with breathing holes in their cheeks. In 1928 a London doctor, Mansfield Robinson, said he had recorded the Martian national anthem. In Urania, a book of essays, Flammarion described a Martian who told him in a dream: "No one has ever eaten and no one will ever eat."
Five quiet minutes an hour
In August 1924 Mars swung within about 36 million miles of Earth. Navy Secretary Curtis D. Wilbur reasoned that intelligent Martians would pick that moment to call, so he ordered every naval station to keep the airwaves clear and listen. The National Association of Broadcasters had radio stations go silent for five minutes every hour, on the hour, from August 21 to 23. The U.S. Navy reported nothing noteworthy. But The New York Times reported that in London, just before 1 a.m. on August 23, "Sounds were heard that could not be identified": harsh dots in clusters of four and five, matching no known code.
Then Mars drifted away again. In 1938 The War of the Worlds radio broadcast turned the friendly Martian neighbors into monsters bent on wiping us out. These days nobody needs a balloon or a wall of mirrors to listen to Mars. The rovers send back the sound of wind blowing across the planet.
