The Apple Man

My name is John Chapman, but people were calling me Johnny Appleseed on account of all the apple tree seeds I’d been planting.

People like to think of me as a philanthropist, giving away free apples.

I’d only done that to get people hooked on my delicious apples, though.

I have a strategic business plan in mind. I would plant apple orchards and sell them to settlers moving west, which would also support the growing population along with my own livelihood, and then some.

I had also been growing apples to use in my amazing hard ciders.

People would drink at parties and at events worldwide.

I had spent a lot of money marketing my hard ciders, but it was worth the investment.

I had made millions, soon to be billions. I owned apple farms and cider production facilities all over the world.

My business was rapidly expanding and I now employed thousands of people all around the world. I managed my empire from my humble offices in Ohio, where I oversaw my largest apple farm.

“Johnny, we have an order for one hundred thousand bottles of hard apple cider from Ted’s grocers,” Peter, my CEO in charge of sales, said.

“Fill it. Oh, and send them a gift basket,” I told Peter.

I had planned to buy Ted’s Grocers next month. They were the largest chain of apple sellers in the country, and if I could cut out the middleman and sell directly to the customers, that was twice the profit.

I walked outside to stretch my legs and get some fresh air.

I noticed a thick cloud of black smoke in the distance.

One of my employees ran up to me, panicked and shouting.

“Sir, there’s a fire in one of the fields. Don’t worry, the fireman are on their way to put it out. But there are reports of an arsonist. Someone saw a man running off. There are a few witnesses who said it looked like your father. But that’s impossible, because your father moved away years ago. Right, sir?” The employee said.

“Not again. Round up this arsonist and bring him to me,” I said.

“Shouldn’t we take him to the police sir!” The employee asked.

“NO,” I shouted. My employee jumped back.

“What? Why not, sir?” The employee asked.

“Do not question me. I know who it is. He’s just an old man in my care, a distance relative. He’s gone senile. Bring him to me. Immediately, before he causes any more trouble,” I said.

“Poor old man,” the employee said. He went off to find my father.

***

Three hours it took to find him.

“He was hiding on top of one of the trees, sir. We’d have found him sooner but nobody thought to look up,” the employee who found him said.

“Whats your name?” I asked.

“Roy,” he said.

“Thank you, Roy. You did a good thing today,” I said and brought the old man inside.

“Are you sure that’s not your fa…” and I closed the door before Roy could finish his sentence.

“I’m ashamed to call you my son,” The old man said.

“I told you a hundred times that you can’t go running off like that. I don’t care how mad you are at me, you’re not to go running off and burning down my trees, father. You’re not to leave your room again until you’re proud of me, father,” I said.

“You can’t make someone proud of you. I used to be a minute man. I fought the British monarchy because the king had to much control,” my father said.

“And? I don’t see the problem,” I said.

“You and your investors have been purchasing all the land you can get your grubby little hands on so you can control commerce and American businesses. In addition, you’re bribing politicians to make you tax exempt under the guise of capital gains. All income is capital gains, son. You hire thugs to intimidate anybody starting a competing business, and when that doesn’t work, you crush the business with frivolous lawsuits. The worst part is, your staff barely gets paid,” father ranted.

“I don’t see any of them complaining about the wages I pay!” I said.

“That’s because they live in constant fear of punishment from you. If you can do whatever you want and get away with mistreating your employees and every other citizen that crosses your path, how is that any different than being king?” My father asked.

“Didn’t you fight the British so so we wouldn’t have to pay taxes. And maybe I should be the new king?” I said.

“No taxes without representation. We’re represented,” father said.

“Whatever,” I said and forced him into his chair. I tied him up.

“You can’t do this, son. You’re not a king,” he shouted at me.

“Not yet, father. Not yet,” I said.

Father started shouting some other nonsense about freedom and riots, so I put an apple in his mouth, walked out and slammed the door behind me.

The next morning I awoke early to the sounds of birds chirping. I stretched, bathed in my luxurious golden shower, which I designed to look like my crisp golden apples, and walked outside.

“Beautiful day to be alive,” I said and took a deep breath.

I walked around the farm and made sure everything was in order.

I checked on all my employees and most were doing good.

There was one man who approached me and seemed agitated.

“What’s your problem,” I asked as the man brazenly stared into my eyes.

“You should pay us more. We work all day in the hot sun for you, and yet we can barely put food on the table,” he said.

“Are you threatening me?” I asked.

“No. What? Of course not. I just want more…”

“More what? More money? Are you threatening to steal from me? I’ll send you to jail,” I said.

“No, I just…”

I took out my revolver.

“You’re lucky I don’t shoot you right here, right now,” I said. He put up his hands.

The other employees had turned around to watch our interaction.

“This man is a threat to my business, and therefor, a traitor to this country and will be charged with treason. You there, get the police,” I said to a young employee. The young man quickly ran off.

“You can’t do this. He just asked for a raise,” another employee said.

“Yes, give us all a raise,” another employee shouted.

Then they all started chanting “raise, raise, raise,” until I shot the original employee in the face. He dropped to the ground.

“I acted in self defense. Everyone, back off,” I shouted.

They all fell silent.

The boy came back with an officer.

“This man incited a riot against me. I was in fear for my life,” I said.

“Were you, now?” The officer asked dully.

“I was,” I said and shook the officers hand.

I discretely handed him a roll of hundred dollar bills.

The officer looked at his hand.

“You did the right thing. I’ll have the coroner come by and cremate the rubbish for you as soon as possible,” the officer said and shoved the thick wad of bills into his pocket.

“Bring back the ashes. We could use the fertilizer,” I said and smiled.

“Sure thing, Johnny,” he said, tipped his hat, and rode off.

The funny thing is, this wasn’t the first time I’d bribed the officer. He’d helped me put down riots in the past.

I loved having the whole town work for me.

The employees were still staring at me.

I shot my gun in the air and shouted, “Everyone, get back to work, unless you want to end up as ashes too. Just because someone died doesn’t excuse you from being lazy. Slacking off will not be tolerated.”

Business continued as usual that day, and did so for a long time after that.

***

A few months had passed without any further incidents.

I walked outside today and there was an explosion in the distance. I ran to my father’s room and he wasn’t there. I’d have to hire a guard to keep an eye on him.

I had one of my employees go to the nearby army encampment to bring soldiers. I’d had a feeling we’d be needing backup.

I looked to where the explosion was and there was a cloud of thick black smoke wafting through the air.

The fireman could easily put this out. I just had to find my old man before he did this again.

I got on my horse and went looking for my father.

I found him in the field setting up another fertilizer bomb.

“Stop this at once, father. I was hoping you’d be proud of me. Look at what I’ve built. Look at my massive apple farm, all the people that work for me. Why aren’t you proud of me, father? Why are you always getting in the way?” I asked.

“Because, son, success isn’t just about money. It’s about making sure everyone gets treated equal. It’s about fair wages and everyone having equal opportunity for success. That’s America. That’s the American Dream,” my father said.

“I don’t need a lecture from you,” I said.

“You won’t listen to reason. That’s why I have to stop you, son,” father said.

“You and what army?” I asked.

“Me and the minute men,” father said. A large army of elderly gentleman had rode up behind him.

“These old geezers can barely ride a horse,” I said and laughed.

“But we outnumber you,” father said.

The soldiers my employees had fetched rode up behind me.

“I don’t think so, father. I’m sorry you don’t see things my way,” I said.

The old men all thankfully surrendered and nobody was harmed.

“One day, son, I’ll put a stop to you,” father shouted.

“Not today,” I shouted back.

Father was taken back to his room and I had bars put on all his windows and extra locks put on his door. He wouldn’t be escaping again.

The rest of the old geezers were taken to jail and later hung for treason. I made sure of that by sending a very generous gift to the judge overseeing their trial.

***

Years had now passed, and Michael Faraday discovered something he called electromagnetic induction.

I hired scientists to use the new process to make a cider so potent, it killed aging cells in the body and forced the body to generate new cells. I patented my new cider formula and only made it for myself, a few loved ones, and anyone wealthy enough to make a decent offer.

I even gave one of my new elixirs to my father. As much as he’d interfered with my business, he was still my father.

And, if he lived forever, eventually I could make him proud of me. Now we’d both live forever, and I had all the time in the world to make him proud.

My scientists and engineers eventually used the new process to invent something they called a semiconductor, a component they’d eventually use to build what they called a computer.

Of course, they invented it using my companies funds, so I was the one who patented the design.

I named my new semiconductor and computer company after my old one, Apple, Inc.

“Sir, it’s your father. He’s escaped, again,” one of my employees said.

“Damn it, I thought we’d finally built a room that could hold him,” I said

I went back to my house and saw that the blueprints for my computer chips were missing. Father must have stolen them.

There was a note on my desk. I opened it.

The note read,

“Dear son,

Your Apple farms have grown small, micro, so you could make room for your computer chip plants. Your brain has grown soft from having your employees do all your work for you. It’s just a shame I raised such a horrible child. I’ve stolen your chips to start my own company to bring yours down. But don’t worry, I’ve named it after you, your small micro farm and soft brain. It’s called… Microsoft.

Yours truly,

Father.”

I laughed at his note. Did he really think he could compete with me?

I’d show him. I’d show them all.