http://www.nytimes.com/2006/07/05/us/05homeless.html

Homeless Alcoholics Receive a Permanent Place to Live, and Drink

By JESSICA KOWAL
Published: July 5, 2006  NY Times

SEATTLE, June 30 -- Rodney Littlebear was a homeless drunk
who for 15 years ran up the public tab with trips to jail, homeless
shelters and emergency rooms.

He now has a brand-new, government-financed apartment where
he can drink as much as he wants. It is part of a first-in-the-nation
experiment to ease the torment of drug and alcohol addiction
while saving taxpayers' money.

Last year, King County created a list of 200 "chronic public
inebriates" in the Seattle region who had cost the most to round
up and care for. Seventy-five were offered permanent homes in
a new apartment building known by its address, 1811 Eastlake.

Each had been a street drunk for several years and had failed at
least six efforts at sobriety. In a controversial acknowledgment of
their addiction, the residents -- 70 men and 5 women -- can
drink in their rooms. They do not have to promise to drink less,
attend Alcoholics Anonymous or go to church.

"They woke me up in detox and told me they were going to move
me in," said Mr. Littlebear, 37, who has had a series of strokes
and uses a walker. "When I got here, I said, 'Oh boy, this don't
look like no treatment center.' "

These are the "unsympathetic homeless" who beg, drink, urinate
and vomit in public -- and they are probably the most difficult to
get off the streets, said Bill Hobson, executive director of the
Downtown Emergency Service Center, the nonprofit group that
owns 1811 Eastlake.

In 2003, the public spent $50,000, on average, for each of 40
homeless alcoholics found most often at the jail, the sobering
center and the public Harborview Medical Center, said Amnon
Shoenfeld, director of King County's division of mental health
and chemical abuse.

Mr. Hobson's group expected the annual cost for each new
resident of 1811 Eastlake to be $13,000, or a total of $950,000.
It cost $11.2 million to build and is paid for entirely by the City of
Seattle and county, state and federal governments.

The actual price tag will probably rise because residents have
more serious health problems than expected, said Margaret
King, a social worker who manages the building. Many have
heart ailments, cirrhosis, diabetes, head injuries from falling on
sidewalks and severe circulation problems. Four residents have
already died, including one who moved in with late-stage liver
cancer.

The building's critics are particularly incensed that residents do
not have to stay sober. The Seattle Times, in 2004, editorialized
that government should insist that the residents quit drinking in
order to live there.

"Bunks for drunks -- it's a living monument to failed social policy,"
said John Carlson, a conservative radio talk show host here. This
approach, he said, is "aiding and abetting someone's self-
destruction."

Drink they do. When residents are shuttled to supermarkets for
groceries, Ms. King said, they often buy wine or beer, which is
sold in this state alongside the milk, eggs and orange juice.

Like Mr. Littlebear, Howard Hunt, 41, moved in the first day.
Homeless since 1999, Mr. Hunt said he drank a daily bottle of
whiskey before he came to 1811 Eastlake. He has epilepsy and
walks with crutches because he fractured his hip.

He shrugged when asked about the policy allowing him to drink
in his new home. "We're going to drink somewhere," Mr. Hunt
said.

Influential Bush administration officials have come to support
this project, including the on-site drinking. John Meyers, director
of the Department of Housing and Urban Development's regional
office here, said he blanched when he learned that his agency
had pledged $2 million for it. He now calls 1811 Eastlake "a
glorious experiment."

"It's a lot cheaper having them spend the night at 1811 than at
the E.R. or at the drunk tank," Mr. Meyers said.

Philip F. Mangano, executive director of the United States Inter-
agency Council on Homelessness, said there should be a
similar building in every city in the country.

These apartments fit into the "housing first" philosophy, newly
adopted by many cities, intended to give permanent housing
and intensive services to long-term homeless people. Local
officials have already approved other buildings for the mentally
ill and people with chronic medical conditions, said Adrienne
Quinn, director of Seattle's Housing Office.

Though it would be unthinkable for a market-rate apartment
building in this booming city, 1811 Eastlake's front door is
across the street from busy Interstate 5, on the edge of down-
town. The Starbucks around the corner donates pastries, but
Robb Anderson, 43, an owner of the trophy shop next door to
the apartments, complained bitterly about paramedics' 120
visits in just six months.

The building's atmosphere during a recent daytime visit was
more convalescent home than rowdy dorm. A few men in the
television room stared silently at a World Cup match, while
others wearing backpacks trudged through the front door and
into the communal kitchen for apple fritters and coffee.

A third of the residents, including Mr. Littlebear, are American
Indian; an estimated 20 percent are military veterans. The
average age is 45. Most receive state or federal disability
payments, and all residents pay 30 percent of their income
as rent under HUD's guideline for low-income housing.

By choice or if they need frequent medical attention, 26
residents live on the first floor in office-sized cubicles with a
bed, desk, dresser and small refrigerator. These communal
living areas have a strong scent of body odor.

Upstairs, 49 people have private studio apartments with a
single bed, bath and kitchen. For many, this normal existence
is a huge adjustment. One man continues to sleep on the floor
next to his bed, and another refused sheets in favor of his
sleeping bag, Ms. King said.

Their quality of life, drinking and use of public services are
being studied by researchers at the University of Washington.
Ms. King said the alcohol intake of the residents was shock-
ingly high at first, but many residents say they now drink less,
at least by their standards.

"I cut down," Mr. Littlebear said. "I've got to save my liver."
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"Endeavor to persevere"
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