Sue talks to Jim Minor, CEO of People Serving People, and chef Nate Lane from Thyme to Entertain about the services PSP provides for families in need and the Chefs for Change fundraiser.

Visit the WCCO Podcast page and scroll down to "Food For Thought with Sue Zelickson."

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PSP Featured on KARE 11 Sunrise
It's a chance to combine good food with a good cause. People Serving People is an emergency shelter that is teaming up with local chefs for a series of events called Chefs for Change.

Chefs for Change events are exclusive cooking demonstrations with chefs like Dan Muggli from Chino Latino and Rick Kimmes from The Oceanaire Seafood Room. Guests can watch the chefs at work and then enjoy a four or five course meal with wine pairings. All proceeds benefit People Serving People.

PSP is an emergency shelter that serves homeless children and their families. The shelter works with parents to find affordable housing and has 22 on-site services like health care for the homeless and Minneapolis Public Schools to aid families during their stay.

Eighty-percent of the people staying at People Seriving People are under the age of 12. The average stay for a family is 28 days. PSP does get funding from Hennepin County but relys heavily on private donations and volunteers.

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People Serving People President Jim Minor came by to tell us about the monthly "Chefs For Change" events that take place in the People Serving People's industrial kitchen.

The first event, on March 24, was hosted by Chef Nane Lane from Thyme to Entertain. Chef Nate prepared Chorizo and Mussels in Tomato-Wine Broth for us in the Showcase Kitchen this morning. You can find the recipe here on our website; just search under the "Main Dish" category in the Recipes section.

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Inspired by comic books, ordinary citizens are putting on masks to fight crime By Ward Rubrecht

"We're basically normal people who just find an unusual way to do something good" says Geist. "Once you get suited up, you're a hero and you've got to act like one."

Image by Nick Vlcek

Geist's breath fogs the winter air as he surveys the frozen Minneapolis skyline, searching for signs of trouble. His long duster flaps in the breeze as his eyes flick behind reflective sunglasses; a wide-brim hat and green iridescent mask shroud his identity from those who might wish him harm.

Should a villain attack, the Emerald Enforcer carries a small arsenal to defend himself: smoke grenades, pepper spray, a slingshot, and a pair of six-inch fighting sticks tucked into sturdy leather boots. Leather guards protect Geist's arms; his signature weapon, an Argentinean cattle-snare called bolos, hangs from a belt-holster.

A mission awaits and time is of the essence, so Geist eases his solid frame, honed from martial arts training, into his trusty patrol vehicle—a salt-covered beige sedan. Unfamiliar with the transportation tangle of downtown, he pulls a MapQuest printout from his pocket, discovering his goal is but a short cruise down Washington Avenue.

Soon Geist faces his first obstacle: parking on the left side of a one-way street. "Usually one of my superpowers is parallel parking," he chuckles as he eases his car into the spot, emerging victorious with a foot and a half between curb and tire. He feeds a gauntleted fistful of quarters into the parking meter, and then pops the trunk on the Geistmobile to retrieve his precious cargo. On the street, he encounters businesspeople on lunch break—some stare openly; others don't even notice his garish attire. "It's easier in winter," Geist says with a laugh. "Winter in Minnesota, everybody's dressed weird."

Finally, his destination is in sight: People Serving People, a local homeless shelter. Geist strides boldly into the lobby—a cramped, noisy room where kids and adults mill about chatting—and heaves his stuffed paper bags onto the counter. "I have some groceries to donate," he tells Dean, the blond-bearded security guard on duty, whose placid expression suggests superheroes pop in on a regular basis. "And I have an hour on the meter if there's anything I can do to help out."

Wendy Darst, the volunteer coordinator, looks taken aback but gladly puts the superhero to work. Soon the Jade Justice finds himself hip-deep in a supply closet, piling books into a red Radio Flyer wagon. He wheels it back to the lobby, entreating the children to select a text. But the kids seem more interested in peppering him with questions. "So are you a cowboy or something?" one boy asks. Geist kneels down to reply with a camera-ready grin, "Maybe a super-secret, space-cowboy detective!"

Another kid, awed by the uniform, just stares silently. "Hi," Geist says with a smile, holding out his hand in greeting. "I'm a real-life superhero."

The kid grabs Geist's leather-clad mitt and grins back. "I'm four!"

Such is the life of Minnesota's only superhero—a man in his mid-40s who sold off his comic book collection to fund a dream borne of those very pages. Unlike his fictional inspirations, he hasn't yet found any villains to apprehend in Rochester, a sleepy city of 95,000 about 80 miles south of Minneapolis. But that doesn't mean he's wasting his time, he says. "When you put on this costume and you do something for someone, it's like, 'Wow, I am being a hero,' and that is a great feeling."

BY MOST OBSERVERS' RECKONING, between 150 and 200 real-life superheroes, or "Reals" as some call themselves, operate in the United States, with another 50 or so donning the cowl internationally. These crusaders range in age from 15 to 50 and patrol cities from Indianapolis to Cambridgeshire, England. They create heroic identities with names like Black Arrow, Green Scorpion, and Mr. Silent, and wear bright Superman spandex or black ninja suits. Almost all share two traits in common: a love of comic books and a desire to improve their communities.

It's rare to find more than a few superheroes operating in the same area, so as with all hobbies, a community has sprung up online. In February, a burly, black-and-green-clad New Jersey-based Real named Tothian started Heroes Network, a website he says functions "like the UN for the real-life superhero community."

The foremost designer of real-life superhero costumes lives in New Brighton, Minnesota. His given name is Michael Brinatte, but he pro wrestles under the name Jack T. Ripper. At 6'2", with bulldog shoulders, he looks more likely to suplex you than shake your hand. It's hard to imagine him behind a sewing machine, carefully splicing together bits of shiny spandex, but when the 39-year-old father of three needed to give his wrestling persona a visual boost, that's just where he found himself, drawing on his only formal tailoring education: seventh-grade home economics. He discovered he had a talent for it, and before long was sewing uniforms and masks for fellow wrestlers, learning techniques to make his work durable enough to withstand the rigors of hand-to-hand combat.

After he posted photos of his masks on the internet, he met his first real-life superhero: Entomo the Insect Man, a crimefighter and "masked detective" based in Naples, Italy. Entomo wanted Brinatte to make him a mask to incorporate into his black-and-olive uniform. A lifelong comic fan, Brinatte took the assignment seriously, and it showed in the stitching. When Entomo showed off his new mask to the community of Reals, Brinatte started getting more orders: a green-and-black bodysuit for Hardwire, a blue-and-white Z-emblazoned uniform for Zetaman. Eventually, Brinatte started a website, www.hero-gear.net, to formalize his business, and now spends 10 to 15 hours each week making superhero uniforms. "They have a good heart and believe in what they're doing, and they're a lot of fun to talk to," Brinatte says.

His super friends are starting to get publicity. Last October, an organization called Superheroes Anonymous issued an invitation to any and all real-life superheroes: Come to Times Square to meet other Reals face-to-face and discuss the future of the movement. The community roiled with discussion of the invitation—was it a trap by an as-yet-unknown real-life super villain? In the end, only a dozen Reals attended, but the gathering attracted the notice of the New York Times and the BBC, which gave the budding league of justice worldwide ink.

"We're basically normal people who just find an unusual way to do something good," Geist says. "Once you get suited up, you're a hero and you've got to act like one."

SO YOU'VE DECIDED to become a real-life superhero. Like Wolverine, you've chosen a secret identity and a uniform. But unlike the X-Man, you don't have retractable claws or a mutant healing factor. How do you make up the difference?

Most Reals use a combination of martial arts and weaponry. The Eye is a 49-year-old crimebuster from Mountain View, California, who wears a Green Hornet-inspired fedora and trench coat. Though he focuses mainly on detective work and crime-tip reporting, he prepares himself for hand-to-hand combat by studying kung fu and wielding an arsenal of light-based weapons designed to dazzle enemies.

"In movies, a ninja will have some powder or smoke to throw at you to distract," he explains. "That's essentially what I'm trying to do." All superheroes have origins, and The Eye is no exception. He grew up tinkering with electronic gadgetry, first with his dad, then in the employ of a Silicon Valley company (he's reluctant to say which one). The Eye considers himself "on-duty" at all times, so when a co-worker started pimping fake Rolex watches to others in his office, the Paragon of Perception sprang into action. He went into work early, snuck into the watch-monger's office to locate the stash of counterfeit merchandise, and then dropped a dime to Crimestoppers. Ultimately, police wouldn't prosecute unless The Eye revealed his secret identity—a concession he was unwilling to make—but he nonetheless chalks it up as a victory. "We stopped him from doing this," The Eye says. "He knows someone's watching."

For sheer investment in gadgetry, none top Superhero, an ex-Navy powerlifter from Clearwater, Florida. His patrol vehicle is a burgundy 1975 Corvette Stingray with a souped-up 425-horsepower engine. He wears a flight helmet installed with a police scanner and video camera, and carries an extendable Cobra tactical baton, a flash gun, sonic grenades, and a canister of bear mace. Topping off the one-man armory is an Arma 100 stun cannon, a 37mm nitrogen-powered projectile device. His ammo of choice? Sandwiches. "Nothing stops them in their tracks like peanut butter and jelly," he explains in a video demonstration posted online.

Once you've honed your body and strapped on your utility belt, it's time to decide how to focus your heroic efforts. Within the community of Reals, there's a buffet of choices. Some choose mundane tasks—The Cleanser strolls around picking up trash, while Direction Man helps lost tourists find where they're going. Most Reals also lend their personages to charities, donating to food banks or organizing clothing drives.

Other Reals scoff at the idea of being a glorified Salvation Army bell-ringer and instead go looking for action. "I fight evil," says Tothian, the New Jersey crimefighter who founded Heroes Network. "I don't think picking up garbage is superheroic." Master Legend, a chrome-suited 41-year-old from Winter Park, Florida, patrols the streets looking for crimes in progress, and claims his efforts have paid off. "I've dumped garbage cans over crackheads' heads, I slam their heads against the wall, whatever it takes," the Silver Slugger says with bravado. "They try to hit me first, and then it's time for Steel Toe City."

IN 1986, ALAN MOORE RELEASED his magnum opus, Watchmen, a 12-issue comic series whose conceit was built on a simple premise: What would it be like if superheroes existed in real life? Besides helping to usher in a new age of "mature" graphic novels, the series foreshadowed some of the complications facing real-life superheroes today.

For instance: How to balance crime fighting with family life? Zetaman, a goateed, black-and-blue-clad Real hailing from Portland, Oregon, got married seven years go, but only recently started his career as a costumed crusader. He says his wife's reaction to his new hobby was lukewarm—she made him promise not to go out at night, and told him to focus on charity work instead of fisticuffs. "She thinks it's a phase," he says with a laugh.

The media can be even less charitable, as Captain Jackson, a gray-and-yellow-suited hero from Michigan, discovered in October 2005. That's when a headline appeared in the Jackson Citizen Patriot that could've been penned by J. Jonah Jameson himself: "Crime Fighter Busted for Drunk Driving." The article unmasked Captain Jackson as Thomas Frankini, a 49-year-old factory worker who'd been arrested for driving with a blood-alcohol level of 0.135 percent. The story was picked up by the Detroit Free Press and Fox News. Frankini was devastated. "My patrol days are over, I'm afraid," he said.

Unlike in the comics, real-life Commissioner Gordons rarely express gratitude for superheroes' help. One evening when Master Legend was on patrol, he heard a woman scream and ran to investigate. But when he located the damsel in distress, she thought he was attacking her and called the cops. "They wanted to know if I was some kind of insane man, a 41-year-old man running around in a costume," he recounts. "Apparently, they had never heard of me."

Bernard, a sharp-featured, 33-year-old police detective from suburban Philadelphia who asked that his last name be withheld, has become something of a rabbi to the online community of Reals. When he first stumbled upon the phenomenon, he thought, "These people are nuts." But as he learned more, he saw how the costumed do-gooders could make a difference. "They're definitely committed, and their heart is in the right place."

Most Reals are harmless enough, but Bernard worries about the bloodlust displayed by a small segment of the community. A recent thread on Heroes Network debated whether it was appropriate for a Real to carry a shotgun in his patrol vehicle. These aggressive Reals don't realize how difficult it is to apprehend criminals in the real world, Bernard says. "It's not like drug dealers stand around with quarter ounces of cocaine, throwing them in the air and saying 'Here's drugs for sale,'" he says. "Let's imagine that one of them does come across a drug dealer, gives them a roundhouse kick to the head, and finds a whole bag of pot in his pocket. Nobody's going to celebrate that. If anything, now you're going to have a huge fiasco. Let's face it—the world is complicated. You don't solve anything by punching somebody." Rumor has it that a Real named Nostrum recently lost an eye in the line of duty, and some wonder if it will take a fatality to jolt the community out of its four-color fantasy. Wall Creeper, a 19-year-old who fights crime in Colorado, even seems to welcome the possibility. "To die doing something so noble would be the best thing to happen," he says.

JIM WAYNE KEPT HIS EYE OUT in his hometown of Phoenix, Arizona—and the bald 40-year-old didn't like what he saw. "Somewhere along the line we've stopped caring about each other and started caring about ourselves," he says.

Two years ago, Wayne saw a commercial for Who Wants to Be a Superhero?—a reality show in which costumed contestants compete for the honor of starring in their own comic book—and something inside him clicked.

"Ever since I was a kid, if you asked any of my friends or family who they knew that should be a superhero, they'd probably say me," he says.

Wayne dreamed up Citizen Prime, a persona patterned after his favorite comic book character, Captain America. "He, even more than Superman or Batman, epitomizes what a hero is: someone who stands up for their principles and goes out there to help people," Wayne says. To bring his alter ego to life, Wayne spent $4,000 on custom-made armor—everything from a shiny chest plate to a bright yellow cape and a sloping steel helmet. "I made a commitment to make this and wear it and create this presence and see where that takes me," he says.

Initially, it didn't take him far. "There's a reason why police are always coming after crimes," he says. "It's one of those fictions in comics when superheroes are walking down the street and hear a scream. I found out real quickly that patrolling for patrolling's sake seems like a lost effort."

That realization sparked a change in how he thought about his role. "I think even though there's some fun to be had in the kick-ass aspect of comics, it's fiction and fantasy and we know it," he says. "As you translate those icons over to the real world, you have to face truths, such as violence begets violence."

So Prime hung up the bulletproof vest and tactical baton and began volunteering for charity work. He teamed with Kids Defense, an organization aimed at protecting kids from internet predators, and allied with the Banner Desert Hospital pediatrics wing, offering to personally pick up toys from anyone who wanted to donate to the holiday drive. "I want to get people out there to create a presence in the community," he says. "You make a presence of good in the community and the darker elements retreat."

Recently, he started his own nonprofit called the League of Citizen Heroes. The organization, as he envisions it, will draw on an army of volunteers—both masked and unmasked—to contribute to the greater good. "That's the level of sophistication that I think the movement's moving towards," he says, "We don't have to just be patrolling the dark streets."

Superhero, one of the first recruits to the League, shares Wayne's dream, but is less philosophical when it comes to why, when all is said and done, he decided to put on a costume.

"I horse-shitted myself into thinking I was being a symbol for people and all that," Superhero says. "But then I just faced the truth and admitted I do it 'cause it's hella fun."

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Charities disassociate themselves from Le Cirque Rouge's burlesque benefit By Paul Demko

Santa Claus, looking like a disheveled drunk rousted at last call, hoists a bottle of Southern Comfort to his lips. He's flanked by a pair of naughty nymphs wearing skimpy outfits better suited for South Beach than the North Pole. On the catwalk in front of Santa two brunettes clad in red-and-black lingerie, fishnet stockings, and feather boas give spectators a good view of their sugarplums while Santa belts out a bastardized version of a holiday chestnut. "Silver bells," he slurs. "My beard smells. Can someone give me a ride back to the workhouse?"

Le Cirque Rouge's holiday burlesque show last Wednesday at First Avenue—which also featured the "greatest 3-D silhouette striptease artist in the world" and sets by a handful of local rock bands—was provocatively billed as a "Christmas benefit for kids with fucked-up parents." The proceeds were slated to be donated to local charities Tubman Family Alliance and People Serving People.

But a funny thing happened on the way to the burlesque show. The organizer of the event, Le Cirque Rouge founder Amy Buchanan, failed to notify the charities about the fundraising gala. When the nonprofit groups got wind of the promotion early last week, they weren't exactly touched by her charitable impulse.

In fact, Buchanan received a series of irate phone calls from Tubman Family Alliance threatening to sue Le Cirque Rouge. When Buchanan then contacted People Serving People, the response was only slightly less hostile—the organization made clear it did not want to be associated with the event in any way.

Both charities were troubled by the unauthorized use of their names in promotional material, as well as the profanity in the marketing.

"This is not the appropriate way to represent a fundraiser for us," says Jim Minor, president of People Serving People, one of the state's largest homeless shelters. "We're not trying to dictate their world, but we're trying to make sure that the people who live here are represented with dignity."

Tubman Family Alliance expresses similar concerns. "As a nonprofit, we have our reputation to uphold," says Randy Schubring, director of communications for the group, which provides services to victims of domestic abuse. "Whatever the nature of the event, because we had not been working with the organizer we could not let them use our name."

Organizer Buchanan expressed surprise that she wasn't welcomed with open arms by the charities. "I guess I didn't know you had to contact people that you want to give money to and ask if it's okay," she says. "I guess the name is just too offensive for people. I thought it was catchy."

Sonia Grover, who books First Avenue, says the only other time she's encountered a similar problem was with the beneficiaries of the club's "Rock for Pussy" show, which raised money for local cat shelters.

In the end, Le Cirque Rogue collected an estimated $1,000 for charity, according to Buchanan. She intends to donate it anonymously to a shelter for battered women in north Minneapolis. But the blowback hasn't chastened her—she expects to host another "benefit for kids with fucked-up parents" next holiday season.

"Everyone I talked to loves the name," she says, still stung by the rebuke from the nonprofit groups. "I just think that those people are dumb-asses."

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Minnesota Vikings' Bryant McKinnie brings big helping of hope to homeless By Sean Jensen

The children at People Serving People knew for a day that Big Mac was coming with Big Macs. But they were overwhelmed upon meeting 6-foot-8, 348-pound Vikings left tackle Bryant McKinnie on Wednesday. "He's so ... big," said Ottis Johnson, a 15-year-old student at St. Louis Park High.

After his busiest day of the workweek, McKinnie raced through rush-hour traffic from Eden Prairie to spend 90 minutes with the 100 homeless families who live at People Serving People, a Minneapolis emergency housing shelter. The 300-plus residents, most of them children, snaked through the facility's colorful basement, receiving autographs from McKinnie and bagged meals from McDonald's.

"Thank you for coming," resident Annette Rutues told McKinnie. "You don't know how much this means to the kids." McKinnie has an inkling of his impact on them.

His father wasn't much of a presence in his childhood while growing up in New Jersey, and his mother, Michele Green, worked multiple jobs to provide for his XXXL needs. Although they struggled at times, McKinnie and his mother always had someplace to go for a holiday feast.

Now that he's a successful football player, McKinnie said he wanted to brighten the holiday season for others.

"Around the holidays is the time when a lot of crimes are committed, and a lot of people are depressed, because they're struggling," McKinnie said. "So if you can do something to cheer somebody up and eliminate maybe one person from having a bad day, that's a victory."

McKinnie and Ronald McDonald accomplished that modest goal Wednesday.

The McDonald's mascot handed out toys, and McKinnie signed autographs. Volunteers and staffers dispensed bags with Big Macs, apple slices and cookies, and manned a turkey toss, where children whipped mini-footballs through plyboard targets to win jellybeans.

"You can see the energy tonight," said Jim Minor, the CEO and president of People Serving People. "We want to give the kids hope.

"We believe the face of homelessness is children," he said. "We're talking about 230 kids who don't have a home, and their life's possessions are in a garbage bag."

For 25 years, People Serving People has been doing just that in Minneapolis, providing shelter and services to homeless families. Residents' stays spans from days to years.

"As long as they need to get back on their feet," Minor said.

Rutues has been at the shelter since October 2005, when a series of setbacks left her and her three boys without a home. In June 2006, she was diagnosed with breast cancer.

People Serving People has supported her the entire time, providing childcare, health care and job training. An administrative assistant for 27 years, Rutues yearned for a better life for her and her three sons.

She graduated from the kitchen-training program in June and was hired as a cook at the facility in September. She also enrolled in an intensive, 14-month medical assistant program at Minneapolis Business College.

"My goal is to become a registered nurse hopefully in two or three years," said Rutues, whose cancer has been in remission for about 13 weeks. "The support system and resources at People Serving People is incredible, and everyone here has a great attitude."

Rutues attends classes five hours a day, five days a week, and she cooks at People Serving People on weekends. She also volunteers at the facility, as she did Wednesday night, checking in fellow residents.

"Your circumstances do not dictate who you are," she said. "Some people are here because of bad choices or misfortunes. But just because you're homeless doesn't mean you're looking for a handout.

"We're looking for opportunities."

Rutues said she was thankful that her sons could meet McKinnie.

"They were very excited," she said. "They're going to be on the phone all night with their friends."

McKinnie fulfilled nearly every request, from signing multiple action shots to shaking hands and posing for pictures. He just couldn't accept the marriage proposal that he received from one of resident.

"One of the kids said I was his favorite player, so that was nice to hear," McKinnie said. "Kids are usually honest." McKinnie may have converted another one, too.

Johnson said he never watched McKinnie, and he said he's a Philadelphia Eagles fan now because the Vikings "fell off."

But he was sporting a Vikings sweat shirt, and he smiled as he walked McKinnie out to his orange Hummer.

Next month, Twins manager Ron Gardenhire will visit the facility and tell Christmas stories to the kids, Minor said.

McKinnie said he expected to return.

"I had fun," McKinnie said. "It turned out real well. It was good to do something for people for the holidays. I would want to keep doing this."

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CBS Broadcasting Inc. - November 16, 2007

Our neediest neighbors are often women and children. People Serving People is one place where families struggling to get back on their feet can get help.

You may have seen the building on 3rd Street in downtown Minneapolis, but do you know all that they do there?

In addition to providing housing and food to families, the shelter provides them with job training, counseling and child care.

Those services help moms and dads get out and find a job or permanent place to live. Two-thirds of the people staying there right now are kids, under the age of 17. The average age of those children is seven.

The families that come to them are first screened by Hennepin County social services to make sure there are no issues with drugs and alcohol. Inside they have enough units to accommodate 350 people.

"People Serving People is a family shelter. All of the individuals who stay here are children related - so a child and whoever is with the child, like mom, dad. We put one family in each room. We don't mix families. They all have their own private room," said Jim Minor, the CEO of People Serving People.

He gave me a tour of one of the units where families stay. The rooms resemble hotel rooms, but without all the frills.

Downstairs, People Serving People runs a child care center so that parents can get out during the day and look for a permanent place to live or work or get job training, which is also provided on-site.

The shelter offers computer classes and a training program in its kitchen that prepares people for jobs in school cafeterias or restaurants.

Older children get help from tutors after-school.

"We have some families come here and they just need a temporary housing situation for 3, 4, 5 days. We'll let them stay here and then they move on. We have some families that stay here 6 or 7 months, before the find a suitable place to live. It is very difficult for many of them to get re-established and landlords to accept them into apartments," said Minor.

Minor told me the face of homelessness in Minnesota is changing. More women and children are filling shelters.

"When you see the true faces of homelessness, we recognize it here that the face is a child's. We have about 213 children here today. That is the true story of homelessness. Trying to change something in their life ... a smile, a pat on the back, a congratulations," he said.

Minor told me they are at full capacity right now and there is a waitlist to get in. He also said they are always looking for volunteers and tutors to help the older kids with their homework.

He said the shelter has been busier than usual this year because of all the houses that have gone into foreclosure in the metro. Landlords are losing their houses and then forcing their tenants out.

"We have many families here who have lost their apartments. What happens is the landlords hold on to the properties as long as possible and don't inform our guests. And all of a sudden it is tomorrow we gotta close and the family is out on the street. We are trying to be here to help them out," he said.

People Serving People is celebrating its 25th anniversary Saturday night at the Doubletree Hotel in St. Louis Park. The event starts at 6 p.m. Tickets are $75 per person. It is a fundraiser and an opportunity to honor the group's donors and volunteers.

WCCO-TV's Jason DeRusha is the master of ceremonies.

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CBS Broadcasting Inc. - Dec 25, 2007

While many families may have enjoyed a nice meal at home on Christmas day, hundreds of people spent their day at a downtown Minneapolis restaurant. All the meals at Rock Bottom Brewery were free, but only to special guests.

The restaurant opened its doors to 800 people who are struggling financially, and in some cases, living in temporary shelters.

Volunteers and Santa tried to make sure each child got what he or she really wanted by matching their request cards to piles of new toys purchased for this event. Volunteers stuffed gift bags with everything from dolls and tea sets, to Moon Sand and Star Wars Lightsabers. Some lucky kids even got new bikes.

The Minneapolis Miracle event also provided gift cards so that kids could buy new shoes. Each child and each parent also got a new fleece jacket.

Michael Regnier, the regional manager for Old Chicago restaurants, said the owners of Old Chicago and Rock Bottom Brewery paid for the meals and the gifts.

He said it was important to them to make sure the guests were treated not just to a meal but a fine dining experience. Each family was greeted with a smile, and someone to check their coats at the door. Each table had its own server.

"One of our lines is dining with dignity. We want families to come through, sit down and have a family meal, have their coat checked. We have a professional portrait studio, photographers to take pictures; we've got crafts for the kids. We just want it to be an amazing day for the kids who may not get this experience," said Regnier.

The kids didn't just get random toys; they had a voice in selecting them.

"The Santa's helpers, which are part of the meal experience, will take a ticket with each of the kids' names on it, their age, size and hopefully we can find toys that are in that child's interest, so when they are done talking with Santa, they get a gift bag with stuff in it specifically for them," said Regnier.

"Every child will get a fleece and a free pair of shoes. We buy gift cards from Payless Shoe Stores. And every kid will get a 15 dollar gift card and then there are stuffed animals, books and we have games. Every kid will walk out of here with gifts," he added.

The families that were there were invited to come; many are working with agencies like People Serving People and Mary's Place. Some are unemployed, recently laid off and some are homeless. Others are just getting back on their feet, but unable to really enjoy Christmas in grand fashion.

"It's hard, it's hard. We are going through a hard time right now so we're trying to get our head above water. Hopefully we are going to make it," said Le'Ander Sanders of St. Paul. He has a wife and three young sons.

Samantha Lindgren of Minneapolis is a single mother of three.

"It touches my heart that there are people out there who care about people who can't afford to make dinners for themselves or for their families, or give the kids gifts like they need. They are doing a lot and I so appreciate it. It's great," she said.

"It is kind of amazing, I didn't think they'd go this far. It is a blessing and all the gifts my son has received for Christmas, it's a blessing," said Theresa Thomas of St. Paul, who was there with her 9-year-old son.

Even the volunteers were touched by the spirit of giving and joy in the room. Chuck Phelps is 79 years old and a retired Minneapolis police chaplain.

"They are all happy when they come in the door. They are smiling. They want to give you a high five, the kids do. It is wonderful," said Phelps.

Perhaps one of the best gifts of all was the family portraits to take home. Organizers hired a professional photographer to take picture of the families for free.

This is the fifth year that the owners of Rock Bottom Brewery and Old Chicago restaurants have hosted the Minneapolis Miracle event, and similar events are held in 10 restaurants across the country.

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General Mills employees join PSP for a night out to raise funds for and awareness of homelessness.

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