Human beings have been getting remarkably fat since prehistoric times (to judge by such artifacts as the celebrated Venus of Willendorf), and accurate weighing is mostly a twentieth-century phenomenon, so the heaviest man or woman ever must always remain a matter of conjecture. Every age and culture has a tale of some remarkable heavyweight, but how much these Paul Bunyans of bulk have grown in the telling is impossible to say. A few such stories have come down to us from classical times. The Roman physician Galen, writing in the first century, cites the case of one Nichomachus of Smyrna, who was so heavy that he could neither move nor be moved from his bed. Other authors tell of a Roman senator who was able to walk only when two slaves carried his belly for him, and of a latter-day Egyptian pharaoh whose belly was broader than the span of a man's outstretched arms.
Dionysius of Heracleia was notorious for his appetite, and eventually grew so weighty that he could scarcely budge: he suffered from apnea or narcolepsy besides, prompting his doctors to prick his flesh with needles whenever he fell asleep on his throne. A contemporary poet has him declare that he aspired to end his days "on my back, lying on my many rolls of fat, scarcely uttering a word, taking labored breaths, and eating my fill," for of all the ways a man might die, an excess of luxury was the only truly happy death. Nevertheless, he lived to what was then the ripe old age of 55, earning a reputation for fairness and generosity that competed with his size as an object of astonishment.
A man observed by the celebrated Dutch physician Hermann Boerhaave took his meals at a table that had been cut away in a semicircle to accommodate his circumference: not having slaves to help him, he used a sling worn around his shoulders to carry his belly. A Gentleman's Magazine of 1789 acquainted readers with a man who hadn't left his bed under his own power for three years: to change the sheets, he was hoisted up with pulleys. (He was said to be in good health, aside from a rheumatic complaint typical of his 80-plus years.) In 1889, an attempt was made to put a young French woman of Plaisance on exhibit, "but eight men could not move her from her room, and as she could not pass through the door the idea was abandoned." And for each of these stories, hundreds - if not thousands - more must have been recorded only in local legend, and then forgotten.
The Guinness Book of World Records was for many editions the definitive source of information on the heaviest contemporary men and women. But in recent years, the book that made stars of the McGuire twins has curtailed its annual list. Perhaps the editors simply ran out of space, or perhaps they got disgusted with the increasing exploitation of such individuals by diet centers and TV talk-show hosts (each of whom needs his own super- heavyweight to meddle with, the way monarchs once needed court dwarfs). In either case, it seems time for someone else to take up the torch, and Dimensions seems the obvious home for such an enterprise.
Here, then, is a list of every known individual who has staked a claim to a weight of 900 pounds or more, in descending order of magnitude. Estimated (or possibly exaggerated) peak weights are marked with an asterisk, while unverified (or unverifiable) stories are marked with two. New entries, photos, and updated information are always welcome. Those looking for a higher moral purpose in this catalog of wonders may note how often these lives have been cut short by venal, inadequate, or positively clueless medical care. How much healthier would the lives of lesser fat people be, if biographies like these were the subject of discussion in professional journals rather than supermarket tabloids?
These are just pictures of some people. Please follow the link to read full article from
The 900 Club.
Carol Yager (1960 - 1994)
Jon Brower Minnoch (1941 - 1983)
Roselie Bradford (b. 1944) 
Michael Edelman (1964 - 1992)
Walter Hudson (1944? - 1991)
they've died young because of their overweight 
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