Anyone who selflessly helps others deserves applause, even more so in this age of grab what you can. Still, every once in a while we come across someone who merits a standing ovation for reaching out.
Meet Jenny Lu, who literally vibrates with enthusiasm when she talks about things like service, paying it forward, building community.
On a deli owner’s income and without fanfare, Lu quietly donates dozens of fresh doughnuts to Marines at Camp Pendleton, feeds the homeless, treats hundreds of high school marching band and theater students to pastries every week and even matches the quarters that customers slip into her countertop “fight leukemia” collection card.
But spend time with Lu and little by little you discover that behind her infectious chatter and love for her customers, there is a dark past of unfathomable suffering, starvation and death.
The place where Lu came of age? Cambodia’s Killing Fields.
Building a business
Walk into the peculiarly named “Scott’s Donuts,” and you enter a place where new friends quickly grow into forever friends.
You see, when you are building something from nothing, you don’t shell out cash just to change a sign. You put everything you have — including your heart and soul — into earning a living, providing for your children, nurturing a clientele.
“I’d rather save money for my regular customers,” Lu explains, “than give money to some advertising company.”
Even after two decades in the same joint in Rancho Santa Margarita, Lu and her husband, Tony, work almost every day. In fact, until recently they only took two days off a year.
Now, they take three days off.
With an accounting background, Lu shares that after her husband was laid off despite having earned an engineering degree, she decided that the family should control their destiny by running their own business.
“I always had a vision in mind,” Lu explains. Fortunately, it never included pie in the sky.
“I’ve always been a hard worker,” she allows. “I like to be responsible. I never leave early.”
Tony, who came to Orange County as a child from Vietnam after the fall of Saigon, starts work at 4 a.m. On weekdays, Lu starts a little later so she can shepherd their children to school.
You see, the couple has four children and like many immigrant parents, their reward is ensuring the children will have more choices than to work in a deli.
So far, it’s working out. On a wall behind the counter, four photographs testify to that success.
Their eldest is in dental school in Portland, Ore., the second child is in pharmaceutical school at Chapman University, the third is in high school and the youngest — a boy I once knew as an understandably slightly nervous young lad when it came to dealing with strangers — is in middle school and now handles cash and customers with confidence.
But you don’t get to be on the deli wall on education alone.
Each child grew up behind the counter, slicing, dicing and mastering the very current digital tablet that handles everything from orders to swiping credit cards.
Lu loves her clientele so much, she is known to advise parents to talk to their children about the importance of education, the benefits of hard work — and to put down the smartphone and pick up a book.
“If teens don’t have jobs,” she shares, “they become lazy. They can clean the garage, mop the floor.”
Lu’s secret to creating a thriving business? According to customers, it’s all about the deli’s inexpensive yet truly awesome breakfasts and lunches.
Drop by any Saturday morning and be prepared to wait in line for a wee bit while the family prepares fresh food and fills a never-ending series of orders for takeout trays. But be forewarned: You will face a very tempting array of doughnuts, bear claws, coffee cake and cinnamon buns.
Fortunately, the rest of the menu is healthy and even includes boba smoothies. Paninis are popular, the bagels are exquisite and the baguettes are to die for.
But, in the end, it’s about community.
Building community
I will admit, I’m a frequent visitor to what most simply call “Jenny’s.” Her prices and quality are difficult to beat and I like the “Seinfeld” Soup Nazi vibe.
A tip: Don’t expect a giant free glass of ice cubes and water unless you buy. Yes, giant cups cost.
Lu and her husband, who is now 60, are whirling dervishes as they ready orders as quickly as possible and, no, special orders don’t upset. Still, in the hubbub there is the occasional mistake. If so, just chill.
“Every Sunday,” states a typical Google review, “my husband buys 1 dozen donuts for our church family in Living Water Community Church. The owner never fails to give us a big discount, every time! May God continue to prosper them for their kindness!”
But there are those oopsies.
“Countless times,” writes Ryan Vieth, “I’ve stopped coming here because they have screwed up or completely forgotten to make my order right after ordering.”
Perhaps the words to pay attention to, though, are “countless times.” No one can get enough of Lu and crew.
My favorite story is when a woman came in mid-Skype. Without looking at Lu and barely pausing to order, she continued to Skype with both hands while also juggling her coffee and sorting change.
You know what’s next. The woman spilled her entire cup of hot coffee across the counter and over Lu.
Lu, however, kept her cool, cleaned up the mess and served up a second cup without charge.
Wait, the best is yet to come.
Next, the woman — still Skyping — teetered over to the coffee bar and immediately spilled the second cup, ruining a vast array of sweeteners and salt and pepper packets.
Thankfully, she didn’t ask for a third cup. Instead, and I am not making this up, she climbed into her car still Skyping.
American dreams
It’s difficult to comprehend the differences in the world Lu lives in today and the one she grew up in.
Even her age, 50, remains murky.
But one thing is certain. Lu remembers exactly what it was like to grow up in a time and place when the Khmer Rouge executed some 1.4 million Cambodians.
And mind you, execution was only one way the Khmer Rouge killed humans. Another was starvation.
I ask what happened to her parents during those years, 1975 to 1979. Lu’s answer is as stark as it is horrifying. “They starved.”
I ask what happened to her brothers and sisters. “Two brothers died, starving.”
But Lu, at about age 10, and an older brother somehow survived and eventually made their way through jungles and over mountains until they found a refugee camp in Thailand.
“We knew we could die,” Lu recalls, “but we couldn’t think about that. We only knew we had to find food.”
I ask what inspired her to keep going at such a young age. “I was looking for freedom and education.”
With the help of a sponsor and after months of waiting, Lu found herself on a flight to Oregon and joined her new family. After learning English, she earned a two-year degree in accounting before coming to Southern California.
Before Lu gets back to business, she has one more thing to say.
“I told my son that after you become a dentist, there will be a day when you see someone who can’t afford what they need.
“You need to give them a major discount.”
