Since June 5 the first-of-its-kind facility to help homeless people in Hawaii with mental health and addiction issues has gotten 101 homeless people off the street.

Many of them were like Evan Saia, who lost his $1,200-a-week job and then his apartment during the COVID-19 pandemic and ended up repeatedly beaten on the street, where he became an alcoholic.

At the Institute for Human Services’ ‘Imi Ola Piha Homeless Triage Center off of Dillingham Boulevard and Kaaahi Street, Saia looked nothing like his clean-shaven, clean-cut appearance when he worked as a waiter and bartender at a high-end Waikiki restaurant that closed after the pandemic hit in March 2020.

He could no longer afford his “very nice apartment” on Kuhio Avenue and ended up homeless and drunk in various communities across Oahu, drinking a pint of rum — but mostly vodka — a day.

In the nearly three years since, Saia has been beaten six times, including last week in Aala Park around the corner from IHS, in an attack by two men that left Saia with a welt under his left eye.

Just four days into his detox program, Saia said this week that he was planning to move back to Rhode Island to reunite with his ex-wife and parents, who are both 89.

The timing could not be too soon for Saia, 52.

In Honolulu the average life span for a homeless person is just 53.

He attends daily workshops to address his alcoholism and says he can already see a better life ahead.

After his last beating, outreach workers from the city’s new homeless Crisis Outreach Response and Engagement Program referred Saia to ‘Imi Ola Piha — it means “to see one’s fullest life” — and the timing finally seemed right to straighten out his life and go back home during the holidays after 10 years in Hawaii.

“This facility has been very kind to me,” Saia said. “It’s a good place, and I thought detox would be good for me. Before, I was beaten up and robbed. I don’t know why. All they ever got was a bag of dirty clothes. And for some reason they’d take my shoes.”

Saia relocated to Hawaii because he hated shoveling snow in Rhode Island, but says that now seems like the right time to wean himself from alcohol and return home to family.

“I’m going to get a job and cut my hair ‘high and tight,’ looking like a Navy brat,” Saia said.

He purposely grew his hair and beard while homeless in Honolulu because he believed that looking disheveled and smelling dirty prevented even more beatings.

“The uglier and more ridiculous you look, the less likely you are to get robbed,” Saia said.

Nevertheless, “the violence got bad,” he said.

At ‘Imi Ola Piha most of the patients — 77% — are male, and 23% are female. The average age is 41.

The No. 1 reason for treatment continues to be addiction to methamphetamine.

Not all of the clients make it through the seven- to 10-day program successfully en route to more stable, sober living, such as in IHS’ Kalihi Uka Recovery House, said Yasmeen Latore, ‘Imi Ola Piha’s director of health services.

Against medical advice, 24 clients have left.

But Dr. Landis Lum, ‘Imi Ola Piha’s chief physician, said he has convinced many more to stay by shooting baskets at an IHS hoop and talking them through their reasons to give up.

“It’s an unusual therapeutic technique,” Lum said.

He plays for two hours at lunch, three times a week, and perhaps half jokingly tells the staff to call another IHS physician or 911 for any medical emergencies rather than interrupt his basketball workout.

Because, at the age of 67, Lum said, “I’m a basketball addict.”

Patients are referred to ‘Imi Ola Piha by hospitals, CORE, social service outreach workers from nonprofit organizations and IHS’ outreach teams led by Castro Masaniai.

Some hear about the program on the street as word continues to spread.

“One showed up at our door this morning,” Latore said. “They hit rock bottom. They don’t see any way out. But they have to be motivated to succeed.”

Patients sometimes make multiple attempts before becoming successful, said Latore, who has a doctorate in nursing practice from the University of Hawaii and a master’s in mental health counseling.

And some stay longer “because we don’t release them until they can exist outside this facility,” Latore said. “It can take multiple attempts to break that addiction cycle.”

Latore was inspired to work with homeless people with addiction and mental health issues through the passion and dedication of IHS Executive Director Connie Mitchell, who wanted to fill the growing need to get them mental health and substance abuse treatment, Latore said.

There are three doctors, addiction medicine fellows from the UH John A. Burns School of Medicine and nursing students from UH’s Nancy Atmospera-Walch School of Nursing.

The two-story, eight-bed building was converted from a veterinary clinic with assistance from the city, using community development block grant funds.

Bank of Hawaii helped with security, and First Hawaiian Bank provided furnishings and also security.

But it opened only after Gov. Josh Green unblocked $50 million in grants in aid that had been pending for 180 nonprofit groups as one of his first acts as governor a year ago. IHS received the largest grant in aid of $1.6 million.

“Without him we would still be waiting in limbo,” Latore said. “This wouldn’t be possible without state support and community support.”

Now IHS plans to lobby legislators for continued funding in the upcoming session.

“We know it works,” Latore said. “We’ve seen major change. Otherwise, they would go to jail or go to the emergency room. And once they were released, they would go into the same cycle. How do we keep them off the streets, out of the shelters? That environment can be so triggering.”

For Saia, ‘Imi Ola Piha may be on its way to getting one more homeless alcoholic off the streets of Honolulu and back to the mainland, reunited with family and a second chance at life.

“It’s about time,” Saia said. “It would be nice to be home for Christmas.”