Pat Ritter. Books

[patritter]

'Greatest OMR Stories'
You Just Don't Want To Know
Criminal investigation work at times is thankless. When a crime is committed, serious or minor, investigative skills need to be sharp with the investigator alert to solve the crime. Being an investigator for nine years particularly when others wanted to know what happen. You just don’t want to know became the constant reply.
From many investigators with Queensland Police I was luckier than most. My wife became my sounding board after long days investigating some of the most gruesome crimes. She sat patiently listening to my babbling on about how I solved the crime. Never saying a word, just listening. At the time, I never realised how important her silence meant. I didn’t need to be told about how the crime was solved, only, someone who loved me to listen. Many years later she told me to write a book of these events I shared with her.
This morning on television, an aged man, in his eighties, being manhandled from his vehicle by a couple of sixteen-year youths who escaped from a juvenile detention centre in Melbourne. This man appeared helpless. Throwing his keys away didn’t deter these youths who found the keys and stole this aged man’s vehicle. Disgusting. What will happen to these youths when they’re eventually captured? You just don’t want to know.
Thinking about this occurrence brings back a memory of a youth, twelve years old breaking into an elderly woman’s home in search of money. This elderly lady arrived home to find this twelve-year old intruder in her home, came face to face, with him. She held her handbag tight. This youth grabbed the straps of her handbag trying to force the purse loose. To no avail. She held her handbag tighter.
This youth pushed this elderly lady to the floor, forcing her to release her hold breaking the straps of the handbag from the elderly lady’s forearm. The youth quickly left the home taking the elderly lady’s handbag with him.
Shortly after this reported incident I captured this youth still in possession of the lady’s handbag. He admitted everything about breaking into the house together with assaulting and robbing this elderly lady of her handbag.
Being a juvenile, twelve years old, before I officially interviewed him a parent or guardian needed to be present. His father arrived, looked at his son, screamed the words, ‘you tell the police everything. You understand.’ Naturally, the youth admitted his crime, returned to the house to show me what he did. The elderly lady admitted to hospital with shock and injuries.
At the impending court hearing the defence barrister submitted a nolle prosecute, which meant I needed to give evidence before the court proceeded to show the youth didn’t receive a treat, inducement, or promise to admit his guilt.
You just don’t want to know what happened. The Trial Judge discharged the youth because of the treat his father gave him when he entered the office, ‘you tell the police everything. You understand.’ The elderly lady never recovered from her injuries or shock and passed away fifteen months later. Some events in life you just don’t want to know.
Word count: 530
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[patritter]

'Greatest OMR Stories'

Scratch Where It Itches

In the company of two beautiful women we gazed at each painting hoping to pick the winner of The Archibald Prize. With Pam and Jan my companions we decided to visit Queensland State Library to find the painting displayed which Noel gave us at the Pomona Writers Group to write this topic.
Our decision to journey to Brisbane inspect this masterpiece came through frustration. Neither of us understood what we needed to write. To research this topic a journey to Brisbane necessary. Without hesitation both ladies agreed to accompany me.
Walking along searching for the painting displaying two child-size hands facing outward with an invisible mask either of a child, or someone else. We finally stumbled upon this painting. Standing beside each other gazing at the painting I wanted to scratch where it itches. Somewhere I'd seen this painting before. Searching my memory database nothing appeared.
Jan, who happened to be more into art said. 'This is the same painting in the Noosa News I showed Noel last Tuesday.' Both Pam and I looked at Jan. My mind returned to Tuesday searching each moment hoping to discover Jan's discovery.
'You're probably right.' I told Jan.
'I'm right alright. This is the painting from the newspaper. Noel wanted us to write a story.' She impressed upon each of us. All three of us agreed we discovered the holy grail. Scratch where it itches continued to bug my mind. Examining this painting a solution to my problem to tell my brain the two hands were those of a young child. Hidden behind these hands a face. With one eye closed one imagined a child's face, whilst with both eyes open, an adult face.
Three of us stood silent gazing at the painting when a movement, like a mouth, in between the two hands said, 'a beautiful painting. Wouldn't you say?' All three of us turned to one another in astonishment. No other person standing nearby. Sent Goosebumps up my arm.
'Did the mouth move, a voice.' I stuttered to my companions.
'What do you make of this painting?' Answered the voice. Neither of us explained our opinion. 'Do you think this painting will win The Archibald Prize?' The voice eagerly asked.
Still in shock, 'I'd prefer not to have an opinion. Our writing group facilitator gave us a topic to write this week. This is our reason for being here to view the painting. He showed us a photograph of the painting to write a story. This is the painting'. I explained.
'Ask any questions. This is my painting. I've entered 'The Archibald Prize'. The voice echoed. The mouth moved to the words.
'Sorry. We should go. Thank you.' I said beckoned the two ladies to follow me. We rushed to the carpark not saying a word of our discovery. On our journey home we didn't discuss the painting or our experience of the voice.
Together we decided to send in a blank page to allow other members of the group to imagine what we wrote. This remedied my scratch where it itches.
Word count: 518
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[patritter]

'Greatest OMR Stories'

Secret Life Of A Writer

Writing is a lonely life. Secret life of a writer is to write, write, write and write until finished.
My journey commenced at fourteen years old in sub-junior at Sandgate State High School. Our English teacher, Mr Imoff, wanted us to write a composition. If you remember back to 1963, an introduction, middle and conclusion. I ignored these instructions instead wrote a story.
After Mr Imoff read my composition his profound words became the birth of my writing career spanning more than half a century. You have a gift for writing. You write the way you speak which is unique. At the time, I never understood these words only thinking I need not worry about learning English.
Move forward twenty years. I'm studying an Associate Diploma of Management at TAFE College. My lecturer, Bob O'Sullivan wanted us to write a three-thousand-word assignment on 'What We Learned At The Weekend Workshop' in his 'Behaviour Class'. Again, I wrote a story.
When Bob returned each assignment, he wanted to speak with me about mine. Again, these profound words: You Have A Gift For Writing. You Write The Way You Speak Which Is Unique. These words were the same as Mr Imoff told me twenty years before. I didn't have a clue what each teacher meant by these words. Both Mr Imoff or Bob O’Sullivan had never met.
By the end of the course Bob became so impressed with my work he asked if we would write a book together. My position in the workforce at the time, Detective Sergeant Second Class, in charge of Juvenile Aid Bureau, Petrie. A serious issue of Teenage Children Running Away From Home concerned me greatly. I wanted an answer to this issue. Studies I learned in Bob's subject created a gateway in solving this issue.
Three years we wrote our first book 'Closing The Gap'. Eventually, published by The Australian Lions Drug Awareness Foundation disseminated through Lions, Leos, Lioness Clubs throughout Australia. 8000 copies sold. I became a published author.
At the same time this book was published, I had an operation to have the implantation of a pacemaker. My career as a police officer finished. Because of the operation to my major organ in my body I fell into a BIG BLACK HOLE of depression. After two years, I crawled my way back into society.
After trying to understand how to live with a pacemaker, I decided to write and self-publish my own story to help other recipients. How Could This Happen To Me became my second book to write and publish.
From working as a police officer for twenty years my career did a one hundred and eighty degree turn around. I became an alcohol and drug counsellor with Queensland Health. Since writing Closing The Gap I wanted to include drugs. Parents – STOP – Be Aware Of Your Child – Taking Drugs became my next book to make parents aware of drugs their children may be taking. An off-shoot to this book Programme Workbook For Young People became my next book to help those young people to set and achieve their goals in life.
With my self-confidence on a high I branched out to write a life story on a celebrity in Queensland Harness Racing. This book awarded me a National Prize. Suddenly, my life as a writer took off with other books I wrote and self-published. Presently I’m writing book number twenty-one.
Times have certainly changed since I began with my first book in 1988. Throughout the years, I have learned each step of writing, publishing, marketing, selling my books through the internet. Blows my mind to think I sit at my office at Brooloo spread-the-word throughout the world to advertise my books. Secret Life Of A Writer is to NEVER GIVE UP!
Word count: 636
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'Greatest OMR Stories' - Just Remember This.

'Just remember this.
When I tell you to do something? You do what I say. Understand!' These words shouted by my father, at the time of my tenth birthday. Very much of a disciplinarian. No love for his eldest child shown throughout my life. Never a word of being proud of my achievements. At every opportunity to belittle me in front of whomever present.
Words 'Just Remember This' became my manta. Each time these words come from my father's mouth I'd slide away like a coward to be out of sight – out of mind. His teachings as a parent certainly affected my personality. Many times, I wished to stand up to him, tell him my thoughts instead cowering away keeping out of his way.
Whether these actions were committed by other parents, I didn't understand. No compassion whatsoever, only those horrific words, 'Just Remember This'. Often thoughts passed through my mind never to repeat the actions or criticism my father bestowed upon me toward my own children. Since having a family of my own certainly at times I wanted to repeat my father's words, then I thought of the consequences upon the person I'd say these words to.
Sixteen-year-old I decided to lead my own life. My parents moved away. I became an individual. Throughout these years the words 'Just Remember This' echoed through my mind casting a spell of destruction in my life. Without taking the bait from my father who lived one thousand miles from where I lived I commenced a new life for myself.
Parents are supposed to protect their children even when they become adults. I plugged along down the river of life until the time I joined Queensland Police Force at twenty-one years old. From aged four years I wanted to become a police officer, more particularly a detective. During the next twenty years I did become a detective plus many other positions in the Force.
Being a police officer to serve the community became my role in society. Living a life as a law enforcement officer trained your mind to just about put up with any individual. A thousand stories of my personal experiences. At this stage 'Just Remember This' I loved my role as a police officer.
Aged forty-two years old I retired from the job I loved. My life did a one-hundred-and-eighty-degree turnabout to the field of health. From working in policing over twenty years to work as an alcohol and drug counsellor spun my life around. Instead of arresting drunks on the street, I counselled them for a better life.
I'd hate to think what my father thought of my change of direction in life particularly when I thought of his mantra 'Just Remember This'. I haven't spoken to my father for many years. When we're at the same family function I'm always polite and treat him with respect of being my father. I have no idea why he treated me the way he did.
Now aged sixty-nine, my father is in his early nineties, we treat one another as strangers because of his words at my tenth birthday, 'Just Remember This. When I tell you to do something? You do what I say. Understand!' Have these words helped me through my life? No!
Word count: 556

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[patritter]

'Greatest OMR Stories'

Santa Claus

Growing up in a country town in Queensland, each Christmas Eve Santa Claus visited to leave a present under the Christmas Tree. On my tenth birthday Santa left me a box brownie camera. I remember this camera. I snapped many photographs, unfortunately in the day and age of box brownie cameras they only took twelve photographs at a time before the film finished. Then the cost of developing these photos became such a cost my interest in the box brownie camera stopped.
After this period for many years Santa Claus left me handkerchiefs. Christmas time in our home became a joyful time for us children to enjoy especially playing with other children. Family gathered at our home over Christmas. I remember my grandmother, mother, aunts all working together to prepare Christmas Dinner, bake puddings with threepences in especially. At the time no, better place to be than around the Christmas Dinner table enjoying turkey, ham, plus all the trimmings.
Years went by to discover my own family, wife and two children enjoyed Christmas with our family. Santa Claus delivered presents to everyone. To my memory no presents were addressed coming from Santa Claus, yet he delivered them each Christmas Eve ready for first break of day on Christmas Day. A most joyful time.
Honestly, I have no idea how many years Santa Claus has been delivering presents to children across the world from the North Pole. We celebrate the birth of Jesus on Christmas Day. Each may have started the same year. I have no idea. I do realise each year children are thrilled to wake on Christmas morning to find under their Christmas tree a present delivered by Santa Claus.
Joy of Christmas celebrations have exploded into a commercial business with advertising on television, radio, newspapers exploiting people to purchase goods. Act of giving has diminished. Santa Claus on the other hand freely delivers presents to all children across the world with his trusted Reindeers. Joy of giving to another rather than taking is the deepest message from Santa Claus each Christmas.
The man wearing a red suit with a long white beard spreads his joy to children and adults during the festive season asking each child whether they've been naughty or nice. Either way the child receives the pleasure of a present from Santa Claus each Christmas morning. I remember one year Santa Claus left me a power tool under the tree. My wife claimed to have purchased the power tool for Santa Claus to leave under the tree. At the time I couldn't believe how my wife would've purchased such a power tool for me to use. A clear message of wanting me to do something. Without Santa Claus in our lives who would leave presents under the Christmas Tree each year to our joy and the joy of our children and grandchildren.
May Santa Claus go on forever.
Word count: 487
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[patritter]

'Greatest OMR Stories'

My Pact With The Devil

I'm a gambler. Been a gambler since ten years old. Both my parents, grandparents, probably their parents also gamblers. My pact with the devil started at ten years of age. Winning a can of ham for Christmas at the local Ambulance Chocolate wheel. How lucky a ten-year-old boy to side with the gamble devil.
I've been told gambling is mixed with the devil. Ever since I remember I've gambled on many things to make a fast quid. Only a couple of times I remember the thrill of winning a huge amount of money. If by chance my strength forced me not to take the chance to win, perhaps my life would've been different. I live with my pact with the devil.
Saturday in my youth attending local race meetings. Most of the time handing over my well-earned cash to bookmakers. Over time I did receive a small amount of my investment from the bookmaker, only occasionally. Even when I turned fifteen years old I remember regularly placing bets with a Starting Price Bookmaker at work. To my memory only winning a couple of times.
Throughout my teenage years Saturdays were my major pact with the devil. Hope upon hope to choose a winner with odds to more than triple my wages. Once when Prunda won The Elizabeth Stakes at Eagle Farm with Lester Piggott in the saddle did I win a huge amount of money. Next Saturday I'd again be broke looking for the next winner.
Growing through adulthood my pact with the devil continued. Eventually marrying my wife, this continued a regular basis eating into our budget. Lust for winning didn't change. Raising a family didn't chance my pact with the devil. Nothing changed. I never wanted to stop.
My goal in later life is to win lotto. Been trying to win for many years. If I banked each lotto entry, I'd had sufficient to have won lotto many times over. My friend and I have placed the same numbers on Saturday lotto since 1982. Most we ever won was a couple of thousand dollars. One number from winning first prize. This is what happens when you have a pact with the devil.
My faith in winning lotto never fades. I WILL WIN LOTTO! When; I'm uncertain. Perhaps this pact with the devil may cause him to allow me to win lotto once. Until this moment arrives I'll continue to keep trying. Someone always wins, why not myself.
I have a plan to break my pact with the devil. Each time lotto is played, I play games. You can't win, if you haven't got a ticket. Each week I play Saturday night lotto; Super 66; Pools; Monday lotto; Tuesday Oz Lotto; Wednesday lotto; Thursday Powerball; Set for life each night. Playing these number of games must give me a larger opportunity to win first prize.
You probably ask yourself Why! One thing I have learned in my life is to NEVER GIVE UP! Each morning checking my numbers from the previous games excitement of winning rushes through my brain. Winning lotto will happen. When I haven't a clue. My pact with the devil will allow me to WIN!

Word count: 541

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[patritter]

'Greatest OMR Stories'

My Secret Garden

I've never been one for gardening. Hard to tell the difference between weeds and flowers. One garden I have kept secret came about on 13th September 2003 when my wife of thirty-one years lost her fight with cancer. My promise to her before she passed to build a secret garden in front of our bedroom, so she would rest in peace.
Since building this secret garden I believe her spirit remains. Each morning I bid her good morning; each afternoon, bid her goodnight. On her passing she wanted to be cremated placed in a secret garden in front of our new home. I carried out her wishes.
All too often we place our beloved in a cemetery wall with many others. Over forty-six years ago my mother's ashes were placed in a wall at Albany Creek Cemetery. Twice I've visited her final place of rest in this period. I didn't want this to happen to my wife. She will always be nearby for our children and grandchildren.
I remember the moment my wife and I spoke about building this secret garden. ‘You promise me you will build a secret garden after I’m gone, place my ashes inside, seal the lid. I want my secret garden built in front of our bedroom, so I can keep an eye on you.’ Her words sealed in my mind.
Building my secret garden, I employed a builder who created a monument in front of our bedroom window. Each end opens to plant her special yellow roses. Raised in the middle, sealed with a marble top, a hollowed space to house her personal items plus her ashes.
Initially after I completed this project my family gathered to bless my secret garden. At the time, I couldn’t believe the number of relatives and friends who travelled to Brooloo to celebrate the passing of my wife to witness her final resting place.
Each visitor received a tribute, a book entitled ‘In Remembrance of Bub’ I wrote on her life. Although this became a celebration to witness this event, also surreal to have happened. Whispers through the gathering, ‘hope my husband makes a secret garden when I go. And, to write a tribute for his wife. He must’ve loved her so very much.’
Reflecting on their words, my love for my wife, couldn’t be valued more after you’ve lost them forever. Sadly, I pushed on not knowing in which direction I was heading. No knowledge of my future.
A couple of months after this ceremony I received a telephone call from one of my wife’s friends to ask how I was going. I can’t use the actual words in this story. She told me I needed to grieve for my wife, sorrow, sadness, plus particularly loss. I didn’t understand any of these words.
After searching each word in the dictionary, I returned to my seat on the front veranda with a cup of coffee to digest my thoughts and these words. Grief is difficult to acknowledge; sorrow and sadness went hand in hand. My left hand pointed toward my special garden when a slight tinge on the end of my left index finger, like someone letting go. My mind drifted toward my secret garden to understand my wife was now resting in peace.
Word count: 554

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[patritter]

'Greatest OMR Stories'

My Funny Valentine.

Fifteen years my wife and I caught the ‘Harness Racing Bug’. My wife operated ownership, training, driving whilst I kept accounts under control. Through these years, we worked together experienced several ups and downs. When one of our horses won. Great. If they failed. Wait for the next time. I always had faith in her ability and skills.
Breeding became our downfall. Let me share a story. On 14th February 1996, my wife and I journeyed to a horse stud to check on our broodmare. I asked the stud master if he had any yearlings for sale. Soon as I lay eyes on a filly he showed me I said, ‘I’ll take her.’
This yearling filly sired by Gatwick dam Sweet Valentine became an omen. Being Valentine Day I gifted the filly to my wife. She exploded, ‘another horse.’ She didn’t realise at the time how important this decision became for our future.
Naming rights for this filly lay with my wife who named all our yearlings. She named her ‘My Funny Valentine’ which at the time I thought strange she selected this name. Probably poking fun at my gift. After breaking her in to harness, teaching her to pace, trialling her against her own age, My Funny Valentine set for her first race.
In Queensland at the time special races for the best two-year-old fillies in Australia with prizemoney of $50,000.00 to the winner programmed for Albion Park, Brisbane. My Funny Valentine after nomination for this race become accepted to race against the best of her age in Australia. Nervous energy not only appeared by the owners, also by the trainer and driver.
Without a race under her belt My Funny Valentine raced like a champion edging out all her rivals with pace not witnessed by race goers before. Her speed away from the mobile electric, pace during the race, unbelievable, finish, way ahead of the best in her class.
My Funny Valentine became a pinup horse for punters, plus race goers throughout the country. This filly selected on a whim only because her dam Sweet Valentine plus she didn’t sell at the sales. Our dream came true with this filly. Everyone in harness racing wanted to breed a champion racehorse. We didn’t breed My Funny Valentine, we owned, trained, my wife drove her in races.
Owning a champion placed my wife and I into a position of never experiencing success at this level. Our name mentioned on many lips, our horse shouted from the rafters. People love a champion. This excitement of owning a champion gave my wife and I self-confidence we only imagined possible.
My Funny Valentine went on to win many races showing ability far beyond others her age. Alas one morning my wife returned from the training track to tell me My Funny Valentine broke down whilst trialling with other older horses. My wife’s confidence shattered. Racing finished for My Funny Valentine. Never again would we experience such highs and lows in a cutthroat industry.
Memories linger after more than twenty years since experiencing owning a champion. We were lucky to visit the horse stud on 14th February 1996, luckier to experience owning, training and driving a champion especially My Funny Valentine.
Word count: 546

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[patritter]

'Brilliant - OMR - Stories'

A Square Peg

At the time we are born, we are given a life similar to a deck of cards. We’re not quite certain which card will benefit us or when. Let me share a story of my life to illustrate my analogy with a deck of cards.
I was born into a family in the late 1940’s. Three years after World War 11 ended. I’m a baby boomer. Life from day one was mixed with love and devotion shared among many relatives and my parents.
In those times, shortly after the war, life was tough for many families. My family first lived with my grandparents and eventually moved out to a housing commission estate in Zillmere. Unfortunately I can’t remember much of these times because of my young age.
When I was five years old my parents left the city to settle in a country town. There we remained for six years whilst I attended primary school.
Authority was strict in these times, not only delivered by parents, relatives, also by authoritative figures.
My deck of cards began to crumble at an early age. When I reflect on this time; I remember not being capable of speaking with either of my parents or close relatives without receiving their comments of me being ‘stupid’ or an ‘idiot’. From this moment I felt my life was a square peg trying to squeeze into a round hole.
Not knowing any difference between acting normal as a child, I continued to receive this verbal abuse from my parents and relatives. Actually, with this burden on my shoulders, I thought in all honesty I was an ‘idiot’ and in fact ‘stupid’ and knew no other way.
It was a time of my life when I lived in fear of doing the wrong thing and getting into trouble. Many a time I thought about ‘why’ I was this way and felt I must have been born with a defect for so many close relatives to think this of me.
It wasn’t until I turned forty years of age, I reflected upon my life thus far to discover I accomplished more than either of my parents and those close relatives who’d claimed I was an ‘idiot’ and ‘stupid’.
It was time to lash out and protect myself. I remember the moment as if it had recently occurred. My uncle, a close relative, commented how I’d achieved so much in life and wondered how because I was always ‘stupid’ and an ‘idiot’. I blasted back at him with such force he was lost for words.
From that moment onward I dispelled the cards I was dealt with as a child and now find I am a square peg in a square hole and enjoy the feeling of self-assurance and self-confidence it draws.

Word count: 468.

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'Greatest OMR Stories'

A Cliff Too Far

During my absence from the writer's group, my partner and I boarded a paddle boat Murray Princess on a Murray River Cruise. Never having done this before excitement built inside my mind taking me to the movies from America of their paddle steamer experiences.
Murray River is the longest river in Australia reaching two thousand five hundred kilometres from the ocean. Wide enough to share many boats. House boats dot the landscape either birthed, moving up or down the river with other traffic. Small hamlets several kilometres apart resemble villages dotted along the landscape. Bird life in abundance of various species.
Our journey commenced at Mannum in Victoria established in the late 1800's. Buildings from the era still stand. My first impression of Murray Princess took my breath away. Total of one hundred and twenty-five passengers with twenty-five crew in attendance. Each crew member excited to invite passengers onboard to enjoy their journey.
Settling into our cabin our journey began. In our minds we had no idea of the experience we were about to undertake. Leaving our moorings at Mannum, the Captain steered the boat north. Our first call of duty for all passengers to assemble in the Dinner Hall to be addressed by staff about safety whilst on board.
Slowly moving along the river our paddle boat made little noise only the swishing of the paddle wheel at the rear end of the boat. Length of the boat measuring a football field. After all safety measures were explained, we relaxed in lounges to partake of refreshments.
Standing on the deck looking across the river huge cliffs reached for the sky leaving our paddle boat appear small compared to these cliffs. After my mouth closed my mind couldn't believe the height of these cliffs only on one side of the river. A cliff too far exploded in my mind. How cliffs be so high on one side of the river whilst on the other flat land. Unbelievable experience.
These cliffs made of limestone, layer upon layer reaching high above the water. Straight upward. Birds nesting burrowed into the limestone. An experience I shall never forget or wonder how this act of nature occurred.
Moving along at a slow pace, like slow boat to china, our minds began to relax taking in the sights and landscape. Nightime fell, our paddle boat moored at the nearest village for the night. This being a four-day tour meant our vessel sailed up river for so far, turned around to return to Mannum.
Over the next couple of days, we leisurely cruised the Murray River stopping along the way, going on bush walks, experiencing a bush bar-b-que, enjoying the company of guests. Our crew were beyond special. Each doing their job professionally.
Returning after our four days to Mannum we disembarked farewelling our crew members who stood at the bottom of the gangplank wishing us farewell also thanking us for our company on board their vessel. A highlight to this wonderful trip, a cliff too far. An experience never forgotten.
Word count: 514

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