COEUR d'ALENE - It was near closing time at the St. Pius Catholic Church soup kitchen Friday night, about 5:30, and Debbie McKenzie was finishing her meal.

Sitting with two others at a table, she glanced around the dining room before speaking softly.

"There's so many homeless people out there who don't even have a meal to eat when it's cold," said McKenzie, a regular at the weekly gathering at the church on Haycraft. "We need this."

McKenzie gets by in part on disability payments of $684 a month, not much, she says, but enough.

"You know what? I don't have a fancy home. I don't have a brand new car. I don't always have a $20 bill in my pocket. But that's fine," she said, her plate empty. "God provides."

God, and don't forget about Sandy Mamola and her team of volunteers at Coeur d'Alene's longest-running soup kitchen.

They've been at it 24 years, since Mamola started it after visiting her mother in Costa Mesa, Calif., where she operated a soup kitchen.

Sandy commented that somebody should do that in Coeur d'Alene, because it didn't have one.

"Don't talk about it, do it," her mother commanded.

So, her daughter did - and has been, for more than two decades. Same place, same time, same day.

Mamola follows a simple recipe:

"It's so easy to make a pot of soup. It doesn't cost a lot. Then you ask friends to come and help," she adds, chuckling.

It's worked.

Not once have they run out of food. Not once has a person been turned away. Even as more and more moms and dads and kids started showing up with the worsening economy - the average is about 75 each week - the meals almost miraculously kept appearing.

Friday's included a hardy potato, clam chowder soup with ham, salad, dessert, cookies and beverage.

"It's spiritual," Mamola said. "When you're doing the right thing, it always works out. We always have food we can give to people."

The food is courtesy of donations and one fundraiser a year, which is coming up Saturday.

It's set for 6 p.m. at St. Pius in the dining hall. It will feature three different soups, salad, beverages, desserts, and service with a smile, all for $5 at the door.

About 300 are expected at the event, which raised about $3,000 last year. Many give more than what's asked.

"If you can't afford $5 give us a dollar," Mamola said. "If you can afford $500, give us $500."

This year's fundraiser is particularly important to Mamola, as the number of people coming for the free supper is growing.

Mamola said one family that shows up, parents and three kids, is struggling. The dad works in construction, which is slow, and the mom stay home to look after the kids.

"They come here to stretch their budget. They're like us," she said, looking around at her volunteers.

Another man who sits down for the meal owns a business and has six employees. He's trying to save money to be sure he can pay his workers, Mamola said.

Others who stop in include middle-aged and elderly women surviving on around $900 a month.

Then, of course, there are the homeless who have little money, no food, who have been arriving since the doors first opened in 1987.

"It's just everyday, normal people," she said.

Everyone is fed, regardless of their circumstances. It's always been that way, always will be that way.

"That's our job. We don't turn anyone away. It's only food," Mamola said. "I don't care if you make a million dollars or make a dollar."

Debbie Vulles, a 14-year volunteer with the soup kitchen, tackles whatever task needs doing when she arrives at 3:30. She'll cook, serve, wash dishes, or clean up.

"I love this. I love the people. This is my family. This is my small group," she said. "I love serving these people. I think we all need to give back, and this is my way of giving back."

People like Art Krebs and Jay Myers appreciate her efforts.

Both men said they attend the soup kitchen, not because they need the meal, but so they have a chance to visit and encourage others.

"I see the need. There's a lot of them out there who are homeless," Krebs said. "A lot of them couldn't survive without it."

"I know a lot of these people who come here sleep under a tree each night and that's no fun having ants crawling on you all night long," Myers said.

Mamola admits she sometimes thinks it would be nice - after nearly a quarter century of doing this - to just stay home on a Friday night. She gets tired, after all. Just take a break from the soup kitchen, no worries about having enough money for food.

But that's not going to happen, she says with a laugh.

"What would I do Friday nights?" she asks, smiling. "It's part of who I am."