Pubdate: Wed, 17 Jan 2001
Source: National Post (Canada)
Copyright: 2001 Southam Inc.
Contact:  300 - 1450 Don Mills Road, Don Mills, Ontario M3B 3R5
Fax: (416) 442-2209
Website: http://www.nationalpost.com/
Forum: http://forums.canada.com/~nationalpost
Author: Mark Hume, National Post

STRANGE DEATH FOR A DRUG COP

Constable Barry Schneider Preached The Anti-drug Message To Kids In The 
Comox Valley With A Missionary's Zeal. That's Why News That He Died Of A 
Heroin And Cocaine Overdose, Not A Heart Attack, Raises So Many Questions

COURTENAY, B.C. - Not long before he was killed by a speedball -- a
heady mix of heroin and cocaine so powerful it can overwhelm even a
hard-core addict -- the handsome RCMP officer stood at the front of a
meeting room and took questions from children.

Barry Schneider, a 23-year veteran of the force who was such a
straight arrow he skipped parties in high school, was renowned in the
community for his high energy, his sense of humour -- and his sincerity.

He connected with kids who were at risk for drug use, people say,
because he spoke from the heart. He spoke to them with respect, with a
sense of authority and with an inspiring sense of passion.

He was a cop. A drug cop. But there he was, in blue jeans and an open
shirt, talking to a roomful of kids about marijuana, cocaine and
heroin as if he were just an ordinary guy -- who knew a lot about drugs.

"Believe this ..." he would say. And they did.

Nobody would ever question his honesty, until an autopsy found lethal
levels of heroin and cocaine in his body. Now the community is in
shock, uncertain of what Constable Schneider was really all about.

That afternoon, facing a group of skeptical teens in a local school,
Constable Schneider handled the usual questions with aplomb.

Then a boy tossed him a curve ball.

"Have you ever tried drugs yourself?" asked the kid point
blank.

Some cops would bristle at a smart ass question like that. The badge
should be answer enough. He was an honoured member of one of the
world's most respected police forces. He busted drug dealers.

He could have said, "I won't even dignify that question with an
answer."

But Constable Schneider smiled, and with a nod acknowledged that it
was a fair question, taken without insult.

"I have never in my life used drugs. I've never even smoked a joint,"
he said.

Those who were there say it wasn't so much what he said, as the way he
said it -- that the words had such resonance, you could almost feel
the message sinking home with the audience.

"It was so heartfelt, and the way he looked that kid straight in the
eye, you didn't for a moment doubt that it was true," recalled Ray
Crossley, an outreach worker who was watching from the sidelines with
a sense of admiration.

When Barry Schneider took the stage, youth counsellors and front-line
drug workers like Mr. Crossley just stepped back and watched with a
sense of awe.

"I mean, the guy was good," said Mr. Crossley. "He could perform in
front of a crowd like you wouldn't believe."

Constable Schneider, he said, was able to reach jaded kids who have
grown up in a world saturated with drugs. He could reach kids armoured
with teen cynicism. He could get to kids who are dying to be cool, and
who could pick up a tab of coke between classes if they wanted.
Somehow he could convince them that saying "no" showed strength and
character.

"He was just great at connecting with kids. Just great ..." Mr.
Crossley's voice trails off.

Last November, Constable Schneider, the father of two girls aged nine
and 12, was found dead at home. He had a history of heart problems,
and at first everyone thought that is what killed him, suddenly, at
43.

His memorial service was the biggest anyone can ever remember in the
Comox Valley. It was so big they held it in a cavernous hangar at
Canadian Forces Base Comox.

More than 600 people attended.

"Wow. What a testimony to Barry," Inspector Dave Zack, head of the
Courtenay RCMP detachment, said as he scanned the crowd that day.

Spread out on a table were some of the things that Constable Schneider
loved in life. His fishing gear. His golf clubs. And everywhere you
looked there were newspaper articles and pictures about DARE -- the
Drug Abuse Resistance Education program that he had started in
Courtenay and which had spread to other communities on Vancouver Island.

As a special memento people were given a gold lapel ribbon with the
DARE logo, a Mountie emblem and the initials: BS.

BS. There is an irony to those letters now that nobody in the Comox
Valley wants to contemplate.

Ten days after the community gave him a hero's send off, the Coroners
Service notified Courtenay RCMP that toxicology findings had detected
a lethal concentration of heroin and cocaine in Constable Schneider's
body. The initial post-mortem conclusion, that he had died from
coronary disease, was wrong. Constable Schneider had died from a
speedball -- a glamorous, potent cocktail of the kind that killed
comedian John Belushi and that a few years ago nearly killed Dave
Gahan, the singer for Depeche Mode.

Two days later, with rumours flying, Inspector Zack called a press
conference and released the information.

Since then Courtenay has been reeling, while four senior investigators
have been trying to answer the questions everyone has. What happened?
How did Constable Schneider get the drugs that killed him? How did he
manage to keep his addiction a secret? How long did he use drugs? And
why did the devoted father and dedicated anti-drug crusader end up
taking a speedball?

Constable Schneider grew up in the Comox Valley. Friends say that
during the party-hearty teen years, Barry was the guy who was always
missing when there was a wild bash.

"He just wasn't there," says Mr. Crossley. "He wanted to be a cop. He
was straight."

But in the Comox Valley, where woodlots and farms slope down from the
heights of Forbidden Plateau to the blue Pacific, being straight is
not as easy as it looks.

The Comox Valley seems at first glance to be an idyllic setting. A
place where you can raise kids in an environment that offers the
healthy distractions of snow sports in the winter, and hiking, fishing
and swimming in the summer. You can play golf all year round in the
valley.

But the local needle exchange suggests there is a darker side. First,
you wonder why a small town like Courtenay even needs a needle
exchange -- then you look at the statistics.

The health van delivers 9,000 needles a month to its clients, who need
only place a call to get alcohol swabs, bleach, condoms and fresh
needles brought to their door.

The day I am in town talking to people about Constable Schneider's
death, the Comox Valley Record unwittingly captures the dichotomy of
the community on its front page.

Under the headline, "Another day in Paradise," runs a picture of a man
snowboarding while two others are seen playing golf. Next to it is the
top news story: "Crack cocaine factor in murder."

A counsellor is asked, "What gives? Why does such a sweet little town
have to give out 9,000 needles a month and deal with crack murders?"

He sighs, and then explains the drug subculture.

In the 1960s and '70s, hippies discovered the Comox Valley. They
flocked in, drawn by the natural wonders. And they brought with them a
relaxed attitude about drugs.

Marijuana cultivation has long been a big business in the valley. And
to some, family values mean being there to share that first joint with
your kids.

"In Vancouver," says the counsellor, "I know maybe four people who
regularly smoke grass. Here, you can't turn around without seeing
somebody lighting up a joint."

The community's casual attitude about soft drugs has attracted harder
users, too.

Nearby Campbell River used to be known for its salmon fishing. But now
people call it the heroin capital of Canada.

Mr. Crossley, who spends most of his working day out on the streets,
says what scares him about the Comox Valley drug scene is the way kids
go straight to hard drugs.

"OK. When I was a kid, there were gateway drugs. You tried grass, and
then you stopped, or you went to the next level, like cocaine. That
was another gateway. You might quit then, after experimenting, or you
might go on to heroin. There were ways out.

"Nowadays, I find kids going straight to coke. Or heroin. Or crack. I
work with kids who don't drink or smoke marijuana -- but who use heroin.

"It's really shocking."

So that was the hometown Constable Schneider came back to. For 11
years he worked the drug beat, first in Burnaby, which took him into
Vancouver's notorious Downtown Eastside, where you see people
stumbling out of back alleys and collapsing from drug overdoses, and
then in remote Bella Bella -- where a lack of road access hasn't kept
crack or heroin from ravaging the community.

When Constable Schneider came home to Courtenay, he knew all about the
evil of drugs, and convinced his commanding officers to fight back
with DARE. Until last week everyone thought he was winning the war
against drugs in his own way. Nobody knew he was losing his own battle. 
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MAP posted-by: Richard Lake