Going Straight: FORMER DRUG DEALER TURNS LIFE AROUND AFTER PRISON TERM

Noel Harder's brother, Donnie, had one rule when dealing drugs --
never, ever get out of the car. But Donnie was no longer around, so
the then-20-year-old Noel, on his first delivery, opened the car door
and walked into a Saskatoon home.

"The door shut and there was a guy with a machete behind me and
another guy sitting at a table with a shotgun pointed at me," Harder
said.

A third man, known as the "godfather of the 'hood," told Harder to
give them his "stash." Harder somehow talked his way out of this 2001
incident, one day hiring these and other men to work for him in what
became one of Saskatchewan's largest cocaine dealing rings.

Harder was eventually caught and convicted, betrayed by one of his
confidants. Out of prison now, the engaged 30-year-old father of two
says he's left the drug business for good. Harder is pouring his
energy into a successful construction company, providing jobs to
ex-convicts, immigrants and others, and earning positive reviews from
industry heavyweights.

"He was serious about getting straight and I'm hard to BS," said
Saskatoon property manager and developer Jim Wolfe, whom Harder
considers a mentor.

"I gave him a lot of crappy jobs. It was a test. He did them all
without complaint."

Ken Achs, president and CEO of the Mid-West Group of Companies, echoed
Wolfe's sentiment. When Harder was released, Achs hired him to shovel
snow on his properties.

"What happened yesterday is yesterday's news," Achs said. "You prove
who you are by how you act."

On a hot afternoon earlier this month, sweat dripped from the
foreheads of Harder and his employees as they poured concrete for the
basement addition to a City Park home.

One man, originally from Ukraine, positioned the truck's spout above a
wheelbarrow. A second hauled the load to Harder and another man, who
shovelled the heavy cement mixture down onto the basement floor. A
fourth worker levelled the mound regularly.

For Harder, it's a world away from the easy money and power of his
previous life. Harder received an early apprenticeship in the drug
business.

His brother, Donnie, dealt Ritalin and morphine for years. Donnie
always kept his supply in a condom and would tie it off and wash it
down his throat with a glass of water when he feared being arrested.

The two brothers were driving in Saskatoon one day when they were
stopped by police.

Donnie, 24, didn't have anything to drink in the car, so he swallowed
the condom without water. After police released him the next day,
Donnie was acting irrationally and appeared ill.

"Don't take me to the hospital. They'll pump my stomach," he told Noel
Harder.

Noel Harder found his older brother on the couch several hours later.
He had vomited heavily and was unconscious, his video game controller
still in his hands. The condom had ruptured inside his stomach. Donnie
spent two weeks comatose in hospital before he died. It was far from
the only trauma in Harder's life to that point. Harder has never met
his birth father and he and Donnie had a harsh home life.

Harder bounced around four high schools before graduating from Marion
Graham Collegiate.

In the days following Donnie's death, his cellphone continued to ring.
Addicts and suppliers hadn't heard the news.

"I finally answered it. I knew where his stash was, so I went (to make
the sale)," Harder said.

Harder survived his first interaction by convincing the house full of
heavily armed men he could make them a lot of money. And he did.

He took over Donnie's business and soon discovered the profits were
higher dealing cocaine. Heroin was also profitable, but would attract
too much police attention, he said.

Using suppliers from Vancouver, Harder's people were soon selling up
to $1 million worth of cocaine per month on Saskatoon streets. After
expenses, Harder said he was clearing up to $100,000 per month for
himself.

"I thought I was untouchable. I was treated like a god wherever I
went," he said.

Harder established a complex web of drivers, street level dealers and
managers. He registered his cellphones through Alberta friends, making
it difficult for police to obtain search warrants or place wiretaps.
If Harder suspected a phone was being monitored, he said he'd simply
cancel it and have another one running "in minutes."

Harder ensured everyone stayed loyal with a mixture of incentive and
punishment. He said his drivers could make up to $10,000 a month. He
bought his top manager an expensive SUV.

But workers would occasionally stray. One driver left town with
several thousand dollars he owed Harder. Harder and his thugs took one
of the man's friends outside Saskatoon and placed a fake gun against
the back of his head until he urinated in his clothes and disclosed
the Calgary location of the errant driver.

Harder and the crew gained entry into the Calgary apartment, pulled
the phone jacks from the wall and subdued the others inside. They then
"escorted" the driver back to Saskatoon, where he worked off his debt.

Although Harder was now wealthy and occupied a top position in
Saskatoon's drug trade, he lived in constant fear. A pack of
Rottweilers guarded his Saskatoon home and he slept with a gun close
by.

"I could never sleep through a night," he said.

To further insulate himself, Harder eventually moved to a cabin near
the town of Wakaw, complete with pool and other luxuries.

Harder, who said he never took drugs, claimed he was only two months
away from quitting the drug business and opening a bar and restaurant
in Wakaw when police moved in. Police convinced one of Harder's most
trusted friends to act as an informant.

Harder was taken into custody and eventually pleaded guilty in October
2004 to trafficking, conspiracy to traffic and possessing proceeds of
crime. He was sentenced to six years and one month in prison. He was
also required to forfeit more than $500,000 in cash and property,
which included three houses, a business, vehicles and personal
property. He said his sentence was among the highest ever given for
first-time, non-violent drug offences.

Upon his release, Harder was forced to declare bankruptcy. Revenue
Canada officials told him he owed several hundred thousand dollars in
unpaid taxes, based on his drug revenue projections that came out in
court.

Starting from scratch, Harder got in touch with Saskatoon developer
Jim Wolfe. Wolfe said he has known Harder since Harder was a teenager
dating his daughter. The pair had exchanged letters while Harder was
in the Saskatchewan Penitentiary near Prince Albert.

Wolfe supplied Harder with an old truck and told him he could work off
the $1,000 cost by raking leaves and doing other odd jobs. Harder did
it all. Wolfe eventually felt comfortable referring Harder to work
with developer Achs.

Achs hired Harder a few years ago to shovel snow on his various
properties.

"He performed really well, was personable and very energetic." Achs
said. "He made mistakes, but only once each."

After a year, Harder decided to branch out into home renovation and
contracting and asked Achs to help him. Harder sat down with Achs and
told him every detail of his criminal past.

Achs said the past is not important and continues to refer some of his
customers to Harder, calling him a "contractor of choice."

"Everybody is always looking for a free lunch," Achs said. "(Harder)
had it for a while, but now he's working for it, and he's working damn
hard. He deserves everything he gets."

Harder said he is trying to repay that confidence by working hard. His
company, RTN Construction, incorporates the first initials of his
fiancee and kids.

Harder said he and other ex-cons need to find meaningful jobs to
become productive, law-abiding members of society.

"I believe these guys should be given a chance they might not get
anywhere else," Harder said.

"If they don't get good jobs, some of them might go back to doing
crimes."

Harder has big plans for his business. He'd like to become a property
developer and is in negotiations to build a number of houses near Dundurn.

He said he regrets becoming a drug dealer, but adds he believes it is
a choice to do drugs.

"I can't say I feel guilty about it. I did hurt people, but people
have free will," he said.

"I absolutely hate drugs. I never did them. I don't want my kids to do
them. How do I rationalize what I did? I just do."

Harder said he is now focused on his business and being a good father.
With one child nearing school age, Harder hasn't yet decided how he'll
tell them about his past.

"I want my kids to be happy," he said. "I want them to have the life I
never had."