Wrestling has always loved its strongmen. From Bruno Sammartino to Mark Henry, promoters salivate at the idea of a guy so strong he could snap a turnbuckle with his bare hands. In the mid-1980s, Vince McMahon thought he had struck gold with a man who could actually do it. His name was Ted Arcidi—the first human in history to bench press 700 pounds in competition. He wasn’t just a strongman; he was the strongman.
And for two brief, sweaty years, Ted Arcidi was the World Wrestling Federation’s proof that gym numbers could be turned into box office. He was the “World’s Strongest Man.” The problem? Bench press records don’t sell like body slams.
The Catholic Kid Who Lifted the World
Born in Buffalo, raised in Concord, Massachusetts, Arcidi grew up in a big Catholic family with six siblings. He played hockey, earned a biology degree, taught science in schools, and even studied dental medicine. But his destiny wasn’t in classrooms—it was under a barbell.
By 1983, Arcidi was benching over 650 pounds raw. By 1985, he was the first man to officially break the 700-pound barrier, pressing 705.5 in Honolulu. He followed with a staggering 718 pounds in 1990, and nearly locked out 725 a year later before judges disqualified him. To lifters, Arcidi was a god. To Vince McMahon, he was marketing manna from heaven.
From the Bench to the Squared Circle
In late 1985, McMahon brought Arcidi into the WWF. His gimmick didn’t need writing. He was the World’s Strongest Man. That was his whole act: he could lift more than anyone else. It sounded good on a poster. In practice, it meant fans saw a lot of him flexing, sweating, and plodding through matches slower than molasses.
He wrestled Tony Atlas, Hercules Hernandez, and Big John Studd—Vince’s lineup of “let’s smash giants together and hope it looks good.” At WrestleMania 2, Arcidi was thrown into the WWF/NFL battle royal, sandwiched between Refrigerator Perry and Andre the Giant. Nobody remembers him being there.
Boston, Calgary, and Dallas
Arcidi’s WWF run peaked with a main event against Big John Studd at the Boston Garden in 1986. Imagine two refrigerators colliding in slow motion—that was the match. The crowd tolerated it, but the writing was on the wall: Arcidi’s muscles were bigger than his charisma.
He left WWF in 1987 and headed north to Stampede Wrestling, where Stu Hart turned him heel. If he wasn’t going to wow crowds with moves, he could at least make them boo. Then came Dallas, where World Class Championship Wrestling rebranded him as Mr. 705. Managed by a young Percy Pringle (later Paul Bearer), Arcidi joined a stable alongside Rick Rude, the Dingo Warrior (later Ultimate Warrior), and Cactus Jack. It was the weirdest ensemble cast this side of a Quentin Tarantino flick.
In Dallas, Arcidi found his only real gold—winning the WCWA Texas Heavyweight Championship in August 1987. He held it for two months before dropping it to Matt Borne. That was Ted Arcidi’s wrestling pinnacle: a Texas title reign remembered mostly by people who were actually in Texas.
The Doll and the Exit
For all his shortfalls, Arcidi did achieve one form of immortality: plastic. WWF included him in their 1987 Wrestling Superstars toy line. Kids who never saw him wrestle still slammed a tiny Arcidi against their Hulk Hogan dolls. In the toy world, he was equal to the icons. In real life, he was gone from WWF before the year was out.
His final notable match came in Calgary in 1987 against Jake Roberts. The Snake beat him, and Ted Arcidi quietly left the business. The bench press king had proven he could lift 700 pounds but not a wrestling career.
The Strength Business
After wrestling, Arcidi did what strongmen do—he sold strength. He launched Arcidi Strength Systems, a supplement line, and opened New England’s largest women’s gym in New Hampshire. He ran a gym equipment company called Weightlifters Warehouse. He turned his brand into a business, cashing in on the one thing nobody could take from him: his bench press record.
Lights, Camera, Typecast
By the late ’90s, Arcidi drifted into acting. He landed bit parts in Law & Order, commercials, and movies like The Wrestler (yes, the Mickey Rourke one). He played the big guy, the heavy, the muscle. It wasn’t Shakespeare, but it was a paycheck. After all, there are only so many roles for men built like industrial freezers.
The Legacy of Mr. 705
Ted Arcidi will never be remembered for five-star matches. His promos were flat, his moves were limited, and his WWF run was a blink in history. But he has two legacies that endure:
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The Bench Press King – He was the first man to officially press 700 pounds, and his raw lifts still stand among the greatest ever. In gyms, Arcidi’s name is legend.
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The Prototype Strongman Wrestler – Before Mark Henry, before Braun Strowman, before WWE turned gym monsters into TV monsters, Ted Arcidi was the test case. He proved you could market strength—but you still needed charisma to stay over.
Final Word
In the circus of wrestling, Ted Arcidi was the strongman act. Step right up, see the man who lifted 700 pounds! Except when the barbell was gone, so was the act. His career was a short experiment in marketing muscle, and it fizzled. But he didn’t fade into tragedy—he built businesses, sold gyms, and made movies.
Not bad for a kid from Concord who once planned to be a dentist.
Ted Arcidi will never be remembered as a wrestling legend. But in powerlifting, his name is still spoken with awe. In wrestling, he’s a footnote with an action figure. And in life, he proved one thing beyond all doubt: being the World’s Strongest Man is impressive. Just don’t expect it to get you over with Hulk Hogan’s crowd.