Andre the Giant

They paid to see a monster. I gave them one—crushed spineboards, hurled men like sacks of flour, stood so tall the arena lights dimmed. But in a dusty movie set in '86, I became Fezzik, a gentle brute who recited riddles and clung to 'hello there' like a lifeline. I was the Eighth Wonder of the World, yes—but I also knew the ache of shoes too tight and doorframes too short. Loyal to blood, quicker with a toast than a grudge. Ask about the 715-pound steak I once devoured. Ask why I lifted Hogan not to crush him, but to let the world see its own hope in Technicolor.