Life on the inside will be an adjustment, said Rainville, reflecting on his 13 years of "on again, off again" vagrancy. Past efforts to help the Minnesota native manage his depression, stay sober and hook back into society have failed.

But the opening of Sunrise Metro apartments in Salt Lake City, future home to Rainville and 99 other chronically transient men and women, heralds a new approach to combating homelessness: housing, no strings attached.

City Housing Authority officials celebrate the grand opening on Friday. The first group of tenants will move in on April 5.

Housing officials have had no trouble finding residents. They expect to reach near-full capacity by mid-May.

"Everyone on the street is trying to get in," said Rainville, who eagerly awaits his return to "a dignified life."

Unlike traditional housing, which requires homeless applicants to be sober or employed, Sunrise asks very little of its tenants. With the responsibilities of home ownership will come the drive to achieve more, goes the thinking.

Two of the four floors are booze-free. The building is secure and visitors restricted.

But residents come and go as they please. And unlike the transitional housing unit Rainville occupies now, Sunrise is permanent. He can stay for as long as he pays his share of the rent, which will never exceed 30 percent of his income. For those with zero income, rent is free.

That suits Rainville, who says he "doesn't do well with change." Just last fall outreach workers had to beg to get Rainville, who is bipolar, to come inside and spend nights at a shelter.

Slowly, Rainville says, with the help of God, his medication and other supports, he was able to get sober. He has chosen one of Sunrise's "dry" apartments.

"I need the support of having other sober people around me," he said.

There are those, however, for whom congregate living won't do. Nine of 17 drifters plucked two years ago from the streets and put up in scattered apartments - an experiment that was supposed to culminate with them moving into Sunrise - have opted to stay where they are.

"There's a need for both types of housing. We're giving them another option," said Bill Nighswonger, the city housing authority's homeless project manager.

Homeless communities in other cities have encountered crippling NIMBY'ism (Not in my back yard), which Salt Lake City avoided by locating Sunrise in a warehouse district abutting I-15 near the 600 South off ramp.

"No one is throwing rocks at our windows yet," said Nighswonger. "And we intend to keep it that way."

Local advocates for the poor have questioned spending on the chronically homeless at the expense of affordable housing for teachers, policemen and young families.

But the "housing first" philosophy that Sunrise embodies is a Bush administration initiative that promises more federal funding for states that embrace it.

Sunrise's $12 million tab was paid with tax credits, government grants and private donations. Rent is subsidized mostly with section 8 vouchers.

Tenants must meet the federal definition for chronic homelessness or be a war veteran. The city won't take applications from anyone convicted of manufacturing methamphetamine or with a violent criminal history.

The apartments are small, about 420 square feet. Furnishings aren't lavish. There is no swimming pool or recreation room.

Any amenities are geared toward helping tenants stay healthy and achieve independence, including four on-site case managers and an exam room for use by visiting doctors from a nearby free health clinic.

There's also a common area with computers where state officials will stage job fairs and Volunteers of America will hold substance abuse support groups.

The complex will accommodate 18 percent of the 541 people estimated to be chronically homeless in Salt Lake County. But by next year, another 84, county-owned units are expected to come on line.

This, coupled with the slots that these "frequent fliers" will free up at shelters and other programs, promises to put a real dent in Utah's homeless population, say advocates.

"Eventually we'll get to the point where we have no more homeless," said Mitsy Stewart at Volunteers of America.

Rainville says the success of similar initiatives in New York, Los Angeles and Seattle disprove the belief that "people like me" choose homelessness.

The second of 12 children born to middle-class professionals, Rainville lost contact with most of his family years ago.

He doesn't remember much about his formative years due to memory loss from his drinking and a possible stroke. He recalls working as a legal assistant and financial consultant and running for public office, including a seat on the Minneapolis City Council.

"I got sick and tired of society and just walked away from everything," said Rainville, blaming his mental illness, which wasn't diagnosed until his 30s. "Thankfully, society hasn't given up on me."

kstewart@sltrib.com