Mark Brandon Read - One Thing Led To Another: The Real Story

I f youre into clichs and, come on, who isnt, it was the first day of the rest of my life.

Ive had a few of those over the years like the day I went to Her Majestys Prison Risdon in Tasmania, for what looked like being the rest of my natural life, to paraphrase Marcus Clarke in his novel about some other poor bugger, Rufus Dawes, stuck in Tasmania in the convict days. And it was for a murder Rufus didnt commit Ive had a few of those experiences, too.

However, this June 2001 first day of the rest of my life was different; this was the day that I was going home.

And no, not to Her Majestys Prison Pentridge, the fine establishment that was my home for such a long time, but to another part of Melbourne for which I have a lot of affection Collingwood. Its also home to a person for whom I have a lot, lot more than affection Margaret Cassar, someone youre going to hear about a fair bit in this book. Some people, especially my mother, say shes the woman who has straightened me out, who has put my life back together. Its probably true. Shes Maltese and if you think the Maltese Cross is some fancy emblem well, you havent seen an angry Margaret Cassar. Thats a Maltese cross! In many ways, she is the term of my natural wife. Although we have been married for only eight years, we have known each other for much longer.

How I ended up making a phone call to her from chilly Hobart airport to let her know I was on my way back to Melbourne is like how I ended up anywhere a long story. I wont cut it short. The journey to this particular phone call started when I shot Sidney Michael Collins.

I had been living in Launceston with Margaret. In 1991, when I had got out of Pentridge for the last time, after doing four and a half years following the shooting of Sammy the Turk, Margaret had agreed to move to Tasmania with me to be closer to my family. At that time, even though they were separated, my mother and father were living there, and my mother and sister still live there.

I had been cleared of the murder of Sammy the Turk, on the grounds of self-defence, but did time for arson and attempted murder. Thats another long story, which well get to later. For a long time while I was in Tasmania, I was keeping myself out of trouble, relatively speaking. We had a nice place at Newnham, a Launceston suburb. It backed up onto the Mowbray Golf Course and Ricky Ponting probably went past my house a few times when he was playing golf there, as hes a Mowbray boy. I might even have shot one of his golf balls. The ninth hole was right behind our house and I used to shoot the balls with my .22 calibre pump action rifle. I suppose the golfers wondered what had happened to them, but there were a lot of big black crows flying around and they probably thought they got em. I also made a pretty good living by gambling at the casino in Launceston. One day I won $50,000 playing roulette but, being Mark Read, I had to put it all back on the table. Yeah, Margaret, I know; I blew it all.

One of the reasons I liked Tasmania was that, at that time, it had the most lax gun laws in the country. I once had a reporter come and interview me about all my guns, and I gave a little display of my ability, shooting a bottle out of the hands of a local bloke by the name of Trent Anthony. It wasnt quite William Tell and the apple, but it was pretty fancy.

I am told you can still find it on YouTube. I am not real big on computers and the Internet, but someone has been keeping an eye on my appearances on my behalf. Apparently, theres a tonne of stuff about me. Type Mark Brandon Read into Google and you get more than 1.5 million hits. Type Eric Bana and you only get 1.4 million. Mark Chopper Read still the original, still the best. Anyway, Im digressing already. When you have had a rich life such as mine, there are just too many things to talk about.

While living in Tasmania, Id also started hanging around with this Sidney Michael Collins, who was the leader of the Tasmanian branch of the Outlaws Motorcycle Club. One thing led to another and I had to shoot him.

We were in Evandale, a nice little village in Tasmania where they hold a penny farthing race every year. They have a lot of old-fashioned things in Tasmania. Evandale was where Collins was living at the time. Hes not living there anymore. Hes not even living something else we will get to soon.

The day I shot him, we had been drinking at the Clarendon Arms in Evandale. Its a great little pub, which had a big open fireplace with a chair right next to it. After closing time, Id sit a toy bear in the chair and shoot at it and other people would shoot at the bear too. So, wed all be there in the Clarendon Arms after closing time, shooting at this poor bear that ended up with a lot of holes in him.

Anyway, after one of the times Id been drinking in the Clarendon Arms, we went for a drive Trent Anthony, Sidney Michael Collins and me. Collins was in the back of my car. Trent Anthony was driving and I was in the passenger seat. I turned around and shot Sidney Michael Collins.

The day before had been his birthday and I had given him a walking stick as a present. Now I thought to myself, The day after I gave him a walking stick for his birthday, I shot him in the guts. He never saw the funny side of it.

When I shot him, he looked at me in pained disbelief and said, Why did you do that, Chopper?

I said, You know why. You have been living out of my pocket ever since Ive known you.

He admitted that he had, having been borrowing money all the time and never paying it back.

I then asked him, Do you want one in the brain?

No, he said, I wont give you up.

A lot of people especially me have been questioned over a lot of things Ive done or havent done, inside and outside of jail, and a lot of these people have never given me up. Just like I have never given anyone up. I wouldnt have survived all those years in Pentridge with the likes of Russell Mad Dog Cox if I were a dobber. When Sidney Michael Collins said he wouldnt give me up, I believed him that he wouldnt talk to the police.

So I said to Trent, Drive him to the hospital.

That was a big mistake. Collins just wouldnt shut up. He kept talking to the police. And talking and talking.

I should have shot him in the head.

The incident became a huge story all over the place, with Chopper Read, the best-selling author, being charged with inflicting grievous bodily harm.

On 14 May 1992, I was charged in Launceston and, after a couple of trials that got more publicity than OJ Simpsons, I was eventually sentenced under the Dangerous Criminals Act. There were two trials because the first one ended in a hung jury. That seemed pretty strange to me. The jury had the evidence of Trent Anthony that I had shot Sidney Michael Collins. And, of course, they had the evidence of Collins, who was still talking.

When you shoot a bikie, there are, as often as not, a lot of people who want to shoot you back. The fact that I am alive today and writing this suggests that a lot of Sidney Michael Collinss bikie mates didnt take too kindly to him becoming a Crown witness. I can tell you, I certainly didnt. And I wasnt too pleased when Trent Anthony did too.

I had pleaded not guilty, of course, but there was still plenty of evidence against me with even my books being used against me but somehow we ended up with this hung jury and even more publicity. So, we had to go to another trial, at which I was found guilty. Being sentenced under the Dangerous Criminals Act or whatever fancy name they had for this legislation in Tasmania effectively meant I was never to be released because they thought I was a dangerous criminal who would offend again the moment I got out of prison. People always make a lot of assumptions about me. Cant think why!