pioneer

It’s right there in the medical books, along with Belsey fundoplication, Heineke-Mikulicz pyloroplasty and Keller’s excision arthroplasty: Tommy John surgery.

Purists might refer to it as ulnar collateral ligament reconstruction, but the rest of the world knows it as the career-saving surgery named for a sore-armed left-handed Dodgers pitcher.

Tommy John was facing the bleak reality that his career was likely over when he ruptured a ligament in his left elbow on a summer night in 1974, an injury that had sent so many pitchers into an early retirement. But a then-radical surgery not only saved but revived his career, as well as the careers of hundreds of baseball players ranging from Tom Candiotti to John Smoltz to Shohei Ohtani in the 50 years since.

Always more famous for the surgical procedure than his career stats, John died Saturday, the Dodgers announced. He was 83.

“We are saddened to hear the news of Tommy John’s passing,” Dodgers president and CEO Stan Kasten said in a statement. “… Tommy was an exceptional pitcher throughout his career in Major League Baseball and his courageous role in becoming the first to have surgery that would go on to bear his name can’t be overstated. His impact both on and off the field has been felt by ballplayers of all ages and will be for generations to come.”

A good pitcher before the surgery with 124 wins in 12 seasons with three teams, he won 164 more afterward — only one fewer than Sandy Koufax during his entire career, he liked to point out — in 14 more seasons with four teams, finally retiring at 46 with a 288-231 record and a 3.34 earned-run average.

“Dr. Jobe made it so I could throw a baseball again,” John told The Times’ Sam Farmer in 2023 from his home in Sarasota, Fla. “After surgery, I never missed a start, and I even pitched out of the bullpen every once in a while.”

He pitched for the Dodgers and the Angels and had two successful stints with the New York Yankees but it was with the Dodgers that he had his greatest success, an 87-42 record and a 2.97 ERA, helping them to consecutive World Series appearances.

It was also as a Dodger that he had his history-making operation.

He came to the Dodgers in a trade from the Chicago White Sox in December 1971 with an 84-91 record, a good curveball and a less than intimidating fastball. Pitching coach Red Adams convinced him that precision location and ball movement were more effective than raw speed and John went 11-5 the following season. He also became well acquainted with orthopedist Frank Jobe, the team physician.

Late in the season, he jammed his left elbow sliding into home plate, jarring loose some bone chips. Jobe cleaned things up for John during the offseason.

Dodgers manager Tommy Lasorda congratulates Tommy John after John shut out the Phillies during 1978 National League Championship Series.

(Associated Press)

Then in July 1974, by which time John had become a mainstay in the pitching rotation, he threw a pitch to Hal Breeden of the Montreal Expos that changed his life, and ultimately the lives of many others.

“Right at the point where I put force on the pitch, the point where my arm is back and bent, something happened,” he told Sports Illustrated. “It felt as if I had left my arm somewhere else. It was as if my body continued to go forward and my left arm had just flown out to right field, independent of the rest of me.

“I heard this thudding sound in my elbow, then I felt a sharp pain.”

John had ruptured the medial ulnar collateral ligament in his left elbow, although he didn’t know that then. The pitch, of course, was nowhere near the strike zone and, despite the pain and in an effort to see if that was a fluke, he tried to throw another. It bounced off the plate, ending his outing and, for all anyone knew, his pitching career.

Jobe recommended total rest but after a month, with no sign of healing, he came up with an outside-the-box suggestion. Earlier, Jobe had grafted a tendon to a recovered polio patient’s ankle to provide stabilization. He thought maybe a tendon could be grafted to a pitcher’s elbow as well.

He gave John a grim choice: Do nothing and never pitch again, or try the surgery at 100-1 odds against success.

“I told Dr. [Frank] Jobe if you do your job I will do more than mine,” John told The Times last year. I just happened to be in the right place at the right time with the right doctor and team.”

So, on Sept. 25, 1974, Jobe took a tendon from John’s right arm, threaded it through holes he had drilled in John’s left elbow and hoped it all would work.

Nerve damage necessitated a second surgery several months later and the prospects were not promising. John’s left arm had atrophied, his hand now basically a claw, and two of his fingers were numb.

Even so, he began rehab, knowing he would miss the entire 1975 season. He taped the unfeeling fingers to the functioning ones so that he could grip a baseball, then, resembling “a little boy throwing against the steps of his back porch,” threw against a wall. He squeezed Silly Putty and strictly adhered to a physical therapy regimen.

By June 1975 he had regained the use of his entire hand and in late September pitched three innings in an exhibition game. He continued his routine through the offseason and into spring training, once joking, “When they operated on my arm, I asked them to put in a Koufax fastball. They did but it turned out to be Mrs. Koufax.”

Surprising many, who considered it at least a minor miracle, he was back in the rotation at the start of the 1976 season and went five innings in his first start, giving up five hits and three runs in a loss to the Braves in Atlanta. He finished the season at 10-10 with a 3.09 ERA, and if anyone was still wondering about his comeback, he put doubts to rest in 1977.

In one of his best seasons, he won 20 games, had a 2.78 ERA and finished second in National League Cy Young award voting for the pennant-winning Dodgers. In a 4-1 win over the Philadelphia Phillies in the clinching Game 4 of the NL Championship Series — then a best-of-five format — John pitched a complete game, striking out eight in a 130-pitch effort.

Dodgers pitcher Tommy John celebrates after the final out in a 4-1 victory over the Phillies in Game 4 of the 1977 NLCS that clinched the pennant for the Dodgers.

(Associated Press)

He came back with a 17-victory season in ’78 and the Dodgers won the pennant again but again lost to the Yankees in the World Series, with John winning a game in both the NLCS and World Series. After the season, he signed with New York as a free agent.

He was an immediate hit with the Yankees, winning 21 games in 1979 and finishing second in the American League Cy Young voting, then won 22 in ’80. In 1981, the Yankees reached the World Series, once again facing the Dodgers — and John was at the center of the most controversial decision in the series that ultimately sealed New York’s fate.

John was the starter in Game 6 at Yankee Stadium with the Dodgers leading the series, 3-2. The left-hander had won Game 2, giving up three hits over seven innings in a 3-0 victory, and had completed four innings of one-run ball when Yankees manager Bob Lemon elected to pinch-hit for John with two runners on in a 1-1 game. ABC, which broadcast the World Series that year, showed John looking visibly upset and surprised as he paced the dugout.

Bobby Murcer flied out to right to end the inning, and the Dodgers would score eight runs over the next four innings against an ineffective Yankees bullpen to secure a 9-2 victory and win the franchise’s first World Series since 1965.

“At the time my reaction was, ‘why is he doing this?’ I was pitching fine and you don’t pull someone out in the fourth inning just because you need a hit at the time,” John said last year. “I was not happy, but that was so long ago in retrospect could we have won? I think so. Does it matter now? No.”

In John’s two stints with the Yankees — he had four seasons with the Angels in between — he was 91-60 with a 3.59 ERA.

And it was with the Yankees that he made the record book, in a way no player would ever want. He committed three errors in an inning, all on the same play during a game July 27, 1988.

With the Yankees leading the Milwaukee Brewers 4-0 and Jim Gantner on first for the Brewers, John charged a slow roller by Jeffrey Leonard to the first-base side of the mound. First, he bobbled the ball. Then, he sailed it past first baseman Don Mattingly, bouncing it off the right-field ballboy. Dave Winfield made a nice play on the ball and fired a strong throw home. It was on line and probably would have nailed the hustling Gantner but John cut it off, then threw wildly past catcher Don Slaught and into the Brewers’ dugout as Gantner scored.

John’s summation, according to Newsday? “I must have had a metal cup on. It glitched the ions in the air.”

After his playing days, John did some broadcasting, some minor league managing and became a strong advocate for suicide prevention after one of his sons took his own life. And after seeing many young pitchers, some still in their teens, undergo the surgery named for him, he spoke out against arm overuse, recommending less than year-round pitching by young arms.

But regardless of the context, John is forever linked to the operation that continues to be performed by orthopedic surgeons such as Dr. Neal ElAttrache, who began learning how to perform the procedure when he was a fellow at the Kerlan-Jobe Orthopedic Clinic in 1990 from Jobe himself. The two would operate together twice a week throughout the 1990s and were close friends until Jobe’s death in 2014.

“It should have been called the Frank Jobe operation,” ElAttrache told The Times in 2023. “But with Frank being the man he was, it was all about the person he was treating. It wasn’t about him.”

By ElAttrache’s estimation, he has performed the operation between 50 and 75 times per year over his career — including the two he has done on Ohtani, one in 2018 and one in 2023. And although ElAttrache has put his own signatures on the surgery — including a second graft to further fortify Ohtani’s elbow — the operation has remained largely the same since Jobe first performed it in 1974.

John is survived by his wife, Cheryl, and his children, Tommy, Travis and Tamara. A private celebration of his life will be held in Florida.

Don Iwerks, an Academy Award-winning special effects pioneer whose innovations transformed film and Disney theme parks, died peacefully Thursday at the age of 96, the Walt Disney Co. announced.

For Disney and his own studio, Iwerks Entertainment, Iwerks helped develop technologies and techniques like Circle-Vision, the 360-degree camera behind “America the Beautiful” and other early Disney attractions, and the 3-D effects used in attractions like Captain EO and the Star Tours ride.

“There was a ‘can-do’ attitude I learned from Walt and my father,” Iwerks said, according to a statement shared by the Disney Co. “Walt gave everyone a feeling that they were creating things that others had never thought of before, of being a part of history.”

Born July 24, 1929, Iwerks received his first camera at age 14 as a gift from his father, animator Ub Iwerks.

The elder Iwerks met fellow artist Walt Disney when both men were teenagers working at a Kansas City, Mo., art studio. They would go on to work together at the Disney Brothers Cartoon Studio, where Iwerks designed and animated “Plane Crazy,” the first Mickey Mouse cartoon.

After a stint at his own animation studio, Ub returned to Disney as a special effects engineer, pioneering techniques like the 360-degree motion-picture camera.

“He was absolutely my inspiration because he was technically minded. He made my childhood and formative years one of the greatest times of my life,” Don Iwerks told The Times in 1998.

The Iwerks family moved to the San Fernando Valley in 1936, where Don graduated from Van Nuys High School in 1947.

He served as a photographer in Germany during the Korean War and joined his father at Disney following his 1952 discharge from the U.S. Army. An allergic reaction to chemicals used to develop film led to his transfer to the company’s Studio Machine Shop, where he spent the next 34 years.

Don spent three months in the Bahamas manning underwater cameras for the 1954 Disney film “20,000 Leagues Under the Sea.” He then worked as the camera technician on “A Tour of the West,” an original Tomorrowland attraction at the soon-to-be opened Disneyland. The immersive 360-degree film was shot on the Circarama camera system his father invented.

Together, Don and Ub developed technologies like the “endless loop” system that enabled a single film print to run for up to 10,000 performances with minimal intervention and refinements to the photography processes used in “Mary Poppins” (his favorite of the Disney films) and other movies.

His own hands were used as the model for those of the Abraham Lincoln Audio-Animatronics figure in “Great Moments with Mr. Lincoln,” which opened at Disneyland in 1965. The “Iwerks Hands” now appear on similar figures at Disney parks around the world, according to his family.

In 1986, he co-founded Iwerks Entertainment, which soon became a major player in the film and theme park industries. The company specialized in large-format films and created the 3-D projection system used in the Terminator rides at Universal Studios parks in Hollywood and Florida.

His innovations were honored with the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences’ honorary Gordon E. Sawyer Award and an Academy Scientific and Technical Award, among other prizes.

“It’s very obvious that computers are playing a big role in motion pictures today. The digital technology in film is able to put elements of scenes together on a film and have them look lifelike. It’s hard to know where that will go,” Iwerks said in a 1998 interview.

“My view is that technology should support a good story and add to it. Technology for technology’s sake?” he said with a shrug. “You still need good films.”

Iwerks is survived by his wife of 54 years, Betty; his sons, Larry and John; John’s wife, Chris; his daughter Leslie, and great-nephew,Mike, both of whom have also worked for Disney, according to an obituary shared by his family. His daughter Tamara preceded him in death.

“Like his father, he was a humble genius, a consummate problem solver, and delighted in sharing knowledge, encouraging others, and approaching every challenge with confidence and grace,” his family said in the statement from Conejo Mountain Funeral Home in Ventura.

Both Don and Ub Iwerks are commemorated in a storefront window on Main Street U.S.A. in Disney World’s Magic Kingdom. Located above the Main Street Bakery, the window is a lasting tribute to a family who made some of the park’s magic possible.

“Iwerks-Iwerks Stereoscopic Cameras,” the lettering reads. “No Two Exactly Alike.”

Football came to Armstrong, via a television set, in suburbia.

His family moved from the Southeast part of Washington DC when Armstrong was young and later settled in a largely white neighbourhood in Maryland, where he befriended a soccer coach’s son. One afternoon, the coach called Armstrong over to the television.

He was pointing to a Brazilian in a New York Cosmos jersey.

“It was Pele,” says Armstrong.

“His movement reminded me of a lot of the point guards that played basketball, but he was doing it with a ball at his feet.

“He was one of the few black players on the team, so that connected me.”

While Pele was popularising a game he’d learned barefoot on the streets of Brazil, much of the American grassroots version was being built on privilege.

Unlike the developing youth academies of Europe and South America, where clubs like Ajax and Barcelona were putting money into young talent, development in the US has long run on a pay-to-play model.

Families must meet significant costs or seek sponsorship to give their children a shot at advancing – creating a system that has seldom favoured those from less affluent households.

“It’s kind of antithetical to what this game’s all about,” says Frank Dell’Apa, who has spent 40 years as the Boston Globe’s football columnist, covering the game since the days of the original North American Soccer League (NASL).

“This is the simplest game with the easiest access. Everybody plays it around the world with no money, no soccer balls, no shoes. And here, we had just the opposite thing going on.”

Armstrong knows just how easily his story could have been different.

“If my folks didn’t move into the suburbs, then hands down I’m not playing soccer,” he says.

Socioeconomics was not the only hurdle.

The NASL going under in 1985 during Armstrong’s time as a college player limited professional pathways for him and his peers before their careers had even begun.

“For me, personally, that was crushing,” Armstrong says.

He turned to the Major Indoor Soccer League to play professionally, where his performances earned him a US men’s national team debut in 1987, followed by a spot at the 1988 Seoul Olympics.

“I remember being on the field, hearing the national anthem and just thinking ‘this is where I’m supposed to be’,” he says.

That same year, world football’s governing body Fifa had selected the USA to host the 1994 World Cup finals – the first time the tournament had gone to a country outside Europe or Latin America.

They would be under the global spotlight.

“The US was not a factor in world soccer at all,” says Dell’Apa.

“I remember Des playing a lot of games on artificial turf. It was hard for those guys. They had to fight to get into line-ups, to get a playing field, to get a stadium.”

With no elite outdoor professional league in the country, the player pool was a fragmented mix largely consisting of college, semi-pro and indoor players like Armstrong.

The federation looked to work around this by securing a core group of them on full-time contracts, essentially turning the national team into the country’s professional set-up. It was an unorthodox approach, not unlike something from the Eastern Bloc playbook.

They appointed a German-Hungarian head coach named Bob Gansler. Armstrong was now among a group of young players who were handed a near impossible task: qualify for the 1990 World Cup in Italy.