The Man Who Would Not Be King

By Joe Hier

By a bizarre accident, John Green finds himself in the last place he ever expected, or wanted, to be. With far-reaching consequences, sometimes comical, sometimes tragic, how will this colossal mistake end for John and the people he loves most?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Newman Springs Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Jan 10, 2024
• ISBN: 9798890610553

Book preview

Table of Contents

Title

Copyright

Chapter One: A Hairbrained Plan

Chapter Two: Whiskers and Woman

Chapter Three: A Close Shave

Chapter Four: Hard Knocks

Chapter Five: Plane Talk

Chapter Six: Getting Home

Chapter Seven: Coming to Grips

Chapter Eight: Down to Business

Chapter Nine: The Cabinet

Chapter Ten: A Taxing Job

Chapter Eleven: Romance and Revelation

Chapter Twelve: T.R.A.P.

Chapter Thirteen: Tax and Counterattacks

Chapter Fourteen: Business and Monkey Business

Chapter Fifteen: Golfing with Sharks

Chapter Sixteen: The Sound of Music

Chapter Seventeen: Meet the Press

Chapter Eighteen: Tofu or Not Tofu

Chapter Nineteen: The Return of John Green

Chapter Twenty: Love Blossoms (or at Least Buds)

Chapter Twenty-One: Countdown to Wedding Bells

Chapter Twenty-Two: Writing the Wrong

Chapter Twenty-Three: Executive Heartbreak

Chapter Twenty-Four: Heads of State

Chapter Twenty-Five: What Happened Next

Epilogue

The Man Who Would Not Be King

Joe Hier

Copyright © 2023 Joe Hier

All rights reserved

First Edition

NEWMAN SPRINGS PUBLISHING

320 Broad Street

Red Bank, NJ 07701

First originally published by Newman Springs Publishing 2023

ISBN 979-8-89061-054-6 (Paperback)

ISBN 979-8-89061-055-3 (Digital)

Printed in the United States of America

We can dream, can't we?

—ANONYMOUS

Chapter One

Chapter One: A Hairbrained Plan

John Green awoke with an idea that would alter the course of history. He was going to shave.

How could he possibly know the consequences of this seemingly innocent action? How could he know that it would affect the lives of millions, the destiny of a nation, and the fate of those he loved most? John Green knew none of these things. He just wanted a shave.

And this was a new idea for him, getting a shave. After all, for nearly two decades, the bushy mane covering John's head and face had defined his appearance. It wasn't a bad look. Not scary like a pirate or weathered like a hermit or sneaky like a bandit or sleepy like Rip Van Winkle. It was a friendly beard. Chestnut in color, not too red, it had just the right amount of curl and consistency to look pleasant and groomed, without much actual grooming. The beard extended up and blended seamlessly into the bushy chestnut hair that covered his head, creating one harmonious garden of neighborly foliage. Although most of his face was covered, the kind blue eyes that peered out from the underbrush were bright and caring. When he was a young man, the defining hair and beard combo had grown out quite quickly and then slowed almost to a stop, resulting in a look of youthful maturity that had remained unchanged over the years.

So why now, at the age of thirty-six, did John suddenly make such a momentous decision? The truth is, he didn't exactly know why, which is often the case when a beautiful woman is involved.

In this case, the woman was Amy Woolley.

Dear Amy Woolley…

At the thought of her, John heard music. His lips involuntarily moved to form the words of that old song, their song, I'll be lovin' you, always…

The orchestra in his mind's ear tapped out the gentle waltz rhythm just the way the real orchestra had played it on that unforgettable day.

With a love that's true, always…

He closed his eyes and saw once more the cherry blossoms on the hillside behind the church. He felt again the crisp air of early spring and smelled the fresh fragrance of moist earth.

When the things you plan need a helping hand, I will understand, always…

A tear escaped from his eye and plunged into the thick overgrowth covering his cheeks.

As he brushed his teeth, the melody continued, Days may not be fair, always…

That day sure was though, thought John, remembering how the sun shone on Amy's face when he popped the question. That's when I'll be there, always. When Amy accepted his proposal, it was the happiest day of their lives, and today, six months later, should have been even happier.

But it wasn't meant to be. As he walked down the hall toward the front door, John stopped at the calendar on his wall. It was Saturday, and written on today's square in a jubilant hand were the words Get married! John picked up a black marker. With a sigh, he crossed out the entry and replaced it with Shave.

As he stepped out his front door, the birds were singing. Once more, he was brought back to that time and place which had been so filled with promise.

Not for just an hour, not for just a day…

The birds had been there then, adding their voices to the small ensemble singing in the gazebo. The best they ever sounded, thought John, thinking fondly of the amateur group of musicians and singers who had been there to serenade them on that special occasion. He was grateful to have such friends.

Not for just a year, but always…

John shook himself free from the memory and started down the short path that led from his cabin to Mountain Parkway, the central road down into town.

On the corner where his path met the parkway was the house of his nearest neighbor, Alice Balinski. Turning left, he rounded the corner and saw the stout, silver-haired woman rocking on her porch, which faced the parkway.

Good morning, said Alice curiously. Seeing he was headed in the direction of town, she furrowed her brow and asked, Going down?

Yes, I am, answered John, but not without saying hi to my prettiest aunt!

Fiddlesticks! said Alice, even though she was pleased. She was a widow of many years with no children of her own, and when John first arrived in Mount Butler twelve years ago, she had adopted him. A cheerful woman with generous features—especially her smile, Alice loved to bake and always had something tasty to share.

This Indian summer is worth enjoying while it lasts, said Alice persuasively. You just have a seat here while I go take my scones out of the oven.

Well, Alice, I'd love to, but I've got to get to town, said John, stroking his beard. I've got some important business to attend to.

Not until you've had a scone with my homemade blackberry jam, she said, leaving no space for argument. She disappeared into the house to fetch the goods.

The important business John referred to was, of course, the big shave. Where they lived, halfway up the south slope, there was no barbershop, just the cabins scattered through the woods, the two larger housing communities (Ridgeview and High Pines), the country church, a filling station, and a small general store. For a haircut and a shave, one must make the trip into town. Although it was only eleven on this Saturday morning, he wanted to get there as soon as possible since he'd never had a shave before and didn't know how long it might take.

A minute later, Alice returned with the piping hot scones and homemade blackberry jam. Five or six scones later, John wiped his mouth, thanked his hostess, and excused himself, saying he really must be going.

You better be careful going into town, she said with a note of concern in her voice. Mischief can happen to folks who go wandering away from home like that.

John chuckled. I'll be careful, Auntie Alice.

Don't let nothing happen to you, young man, or I'll have no one to bake for.

I'll stop in on my way back, reassured John as he stepped off the porch and started on his way. He cared a great deal for his auntie and would go to great lengths to show her kindness. If that meant eating her delicious food, then so be it.

*****

The name of the town was Mount Butler, although it wasn't on the mountain Mount Butler, and the people who lived on the mountain Mount Butler were generally considered outside of town. But they were really all fellow Mount Butlerians at heart. In any case, town had the barbershop, and so the morning sun found John Green walking down the hill for the first time in a long while.

It wasn't that John never went out; on the contrary, he was outside almost every day, but his business generally took him up the hill where most of his customers lived.

In the fall, his company, Green Services, delivered firewood to the mountain residents, and in the winter, they shoveled snow from their driveways. In spring, they took care of their yards, and in summer, they cleaned their chimneys, repaired fences, trimmed trees, and performed any number of other services. John enjoyed training young people, hiring as many as he could, and equipping them in skills and in life.

As he walked, he inhaled deep drafts of the pine-scented air. Squirrels were chattering in the trees above him and running about the ground, gathering the nuts which had just begun to fall. He could hear the gurgling of hidden streams, and at one point, a doe and her fawn crossed the parkway about ten yards in front of him.

John hadn't always lived out here. In what seemed like a previous life, he'd lived in the big city, working for a Fortune 500 company. There he created systems that proved extremely profitable for the business, and within a short time, he was a department head. He had a way of helping everyone who worked under him earn more money, and before long, everyone wanted to be in his department. Certain of his superiors, feeling threatened by John's popularity, set about to block him at every turn. When an upper position opened and John was the obvious choice for advancement, they saw to it that for some reason or another, he did not receive the promotion. John didn't mind this and was content to stay where he was, bringing an excellent return and training up his people to do the same. However, envy being never satisfied, those who resented John's success continued their subterfuge and maneuvering against him until he was so sick of office politics that he quit. He immediately received lucrative offers from the competition, but he'd been in those shark-infested waters long enough to know that he wanted no part of it. So he left the corporate world with its political games and moved out here to the south slope of Mount Butler.

Here in the clear mountain air, both John and his beard had thrived, just like the thick pine forests around them. He had never been back to the city and had no desire to do so.

The first job he had gotten on the south slope was as an assistant greenskeeper at the golf course, which was in the center of the River Ridge Resort Community. He had learned quickly (both golf course maintenance and the game of golf), and when the head greenskeeper retired, John took over and kept the course in immaculate condition. He said the secret of his success was getting out and testing the course often.

Eventually, he started Green Services and contracted with the golf course as an independent contractor. Slowly but surely, he and his team grew the business, expanding their range of services and their clientele until they were well-known to folks all over the south slope and town.

John now had a crew that took care of the golf course, and although he didn't get to do much of that work himself, he still made sure to play a round every week or so to keep an eye on the upkeep.

*****

Hi, John! called out Sam and Linda Darby from their porch, as he walked downhill past their house.

Good morning, he replied.

The young couple were good friends of John, and it was they who had first introduced him to Amy and her brother Tim. The five of them had spent many an evening this past summer, making music on the porch. Although piano was John's forte, so to speak, he was a decent front-porch guitarist as well. He would pick along as Tim played the bass, Sam fiddled, and Linda sang. And Amy would join in with the harmony in her sweet alto voice. The voice of an angel, thought John.

Yes, they'd had quite a time together, until the quintet ended tragically this past Labor Day. The Darbys watched as John continued down the parkway and disappeared from view.

It was about an hour's walk down to town (longer coming up, of course), and John met many more friends along the way, including a number of children.

When's the baseball field gonna be ready? asked one bright-eyed twelve-year-old.

Well, Billy, replied John, it could be ready by spring.

Yippee! shouted Billy, jumping up and down.

Tim Woolley and I are working out a plan for clearing the land, said John, and we'll let you know when it's time for the gang to help.

Okay, said Billy, running off to play.

The baseball field was an idea John had started talking about a few months ago. He had watched kids trying to play baseball on the hillside and spending more time running down the hill after the ball than anything else. Finally, he decided they needed a real place to play. There was an old farm, turned to dump grounds, on the north end of town, which was one of the few pieces of flat land big enough to suit the purpose. It was still called Jacoby's Farm, even though old Farmer Jacoby had long since departed, and the county had owned the land for decades.

When John started speaking about the idea of turning Jacoby's into a baseball field, the vision spread like wildfire among the children. Then they talked about it until their parents were inspired. Then their parents talked about it until everyone else was inspired. The county granted permission to use the land, and John and his friends set to work on a plan. Part of the plan was to make a way for the kids themselves to do as much of the project as they could safely do. The grounds were full of broken furniture, appliances, tires, and all manner of junk to be cleaned up. Along with this were hundreds of feet of old fence and a dilapidated barn which would have to be taken down.

The seed of the idea had been planted in John's brain back in February. It was a snowy day, and he was shoveling snow for homeowners in town. He had just finished a driveway that bordered the Jacoby land when he heard a loud groan. Walking over to take a look, he saw that it was the sagging roof of the barn creaking and groaning under the added weight of the snow. The roof would settle and be quiet for a minute and then start creaking again. Fascinated, he watched the snowflakes softly floating down. Each one of those tiny flakes is adding a minuscule amount of weight, he thought. I wonder which one will be the last straw? It didn't take long to find out. As he stood there watching, the roof gave another long screech morphing into a deep cracking sound. John jumped back, as the old barn roof suddenly came crashing down.

That experience had stuck in his mind, and then in the summer, when watching the kids try to play ball, he had come up with the solution of repurposing the land.

It's gonna take some doing, thought John as he walked, but it'll be worth it.

What are you thinking about? asked a familiar, scratchy voice. It was Archie, one of John's older friends. He was sitting in a rocking chair next to his wife, Louise, and John had almost walked right by without seeing them.

Oh, hi, Archie. Louise. He stopped and smiled at them. I guess I was thinking about baseball.

Oh, the field! said Archie. We're excited about that too.

Well, we appreciate your generous contribution, said John.

There's more where that came from, said Archie. You just let us know. We're gonna need bleachers and lights—

And a hot dog stand! interjected Louise. Baseball ain't baseball without hot dogs.

Good point, said John, laughing. It's good to see you two using your new porch.

We've been out here every day since y'all finished it, said Louise, and we love it. The paint color is perfect.

Well, that was— John stopped midsentence. He had been about to say, Amy's idea, but the words stuck in his throat.

Louise felt awful about bringing up the painful memory, today of all days, and Archie quickly changed the subject.

We want to get our chimney cleaned before the cold sets in, said the old man. Can we get on your schedule?

Of course, said John. Just give Tim a call on Monday, and he'll get you scheduled. Tim Woolley was John's right-hand man. He had started working for John ten years ago, right out of high school, and John had taught him everything he could about business, music, and life.

As John walked away in the distance, Louise watched him with pity and said to Archie, You know, today would have been their wedding. What a shame.

*****

When John was three-quarters of the way down, he passed a well-kept house with a landscaped yard and a sign over the door that said, D. Hawlsey, Certified Public Accountant.

Hawlsey's a nice enough fellow, thought John, but I sure don't look forward to seeing him. Because that means tax season!

John loved taking care of customers, but one thing he did not love was doing his taxes. It was bad enough that the government wanted so much of people's money, but just as bad to John was the waste of time. And if it wastes so much of my time, he thought, think of that multiplied across a hundred million taxpayers! How much more could be accomplished with all of that time and energy?

John recalled a conversation last year when Hawlsey was trying to explain how he could write off some of his golfing expenses. There was a special deduction that allowed it, but then there were exceptions, but then there were loopholes, but then there were exceptions to the loopholes, and penalties if the exceptions to the loopholes weren't followed.

He'd finally told Hawlsey, Forget it. I'll just pay whatever I owe. I only wish it wasn't so complicated!

As he rounded the corner and came to the last half-mile stretch before town, he saw it—the little white cottage, and the old feelings came rushing back. Though he rarely visited the town beyond, he had come this far many times. In fact, he spent a good part of his spring and summer in this cottage. The Woolley cottage. All those evenings sitting at their piano, plunking out tunes, with Amy and Tim singing along, the three of them talking and laughing together.

He hadn't been back here for over a month now, not since that fateful Labor Day. As he passed by the gate, he hesitated for a moment. Almost involuntarily, he whistled the melody that he'd sung to her so often, With a love that's true, always… Just as he turned to go, the front door swung open with a creak, and a slender woman with light-brown hair and blue eyes stepped out. Their eyes met, and John said in a choked voice, Hello, Amy.

Chapter Two

Chapter Two: Whiskers and