Why do Lebanese men wear gold chains?

My father, Ronnie Betros, was born in a small village called Kfarsghab in the mountains of North Lebanon. Please don't attempt to pronounce it if you aren't Lebanese. It requires deft manoeuvres of the tongue involving copious amounts of spit. Let's just call it the Village.

Dad immigrated to Australia just after the end of the Second World War when he was a young boy. He was raised within the small, tight Lebanese community of Toowoomba. Whilst the family were devout Maronite Christians, they became active members of the local Catholic Church. Rome is OK with the Maronites, even though they are an Eastern sect. The Maronites gave a lot of help to the Crusaders in the course of their jolly jaunts to the Near East and the two Churches have been in communion ever since.

Dad wasn't christened Ronald. Few Lebanese boys are. He was actually christened Elias. The milkman decided to call him Ronnie and the name stuck. It now appears on his passport and driver's licence. Personally I prefer Elias, and Charlie's middle names are William and Elias, after his two grandfathers. Camilla's late father, William Dent, was a well known and widely respected gentleman in his own right and I will deal with him in later posts.

Dad must have been a quiet radical of sorts because he married a white girl. My mother, Margaret Costello, was from a hard working decent Irish Catholic family who raised cattle on the land at the foot of the Toowoomba range.

Mum and Dad have always enjoyed a happy and prosperous marriage. They did a wonderful job raising me and my two sisters, Michelle and Danielle. Recent events arising from my illness have shaken them to their foundations, but they are stronger than they think and like the rest of our family will somehow get through.

My sisters and I are proud Lebanese Australians. The Lebanese have had some bad press in Australia in recent times. Much has been said and written about the problems caused by gangs of young, violent men of Middle Eastern appearance who roam the streets of suburban Sydney and Melbourne. This is, I emphasise, completely at odds with the experiences I have had with my extended family. My family, like many other Lebanese families, has been wiling to embrace  the Australian way of life and integrate into the broader society, whilst retaining its own identity, history and tradition.

The Lebanese community has produced some outstanding Australian achievers.

The most outstanding of them, to me anyway, is Jacques Nasser, who rose through the ranks to become the CEO of the Ford Motor Company in the States. He is presently the global Chairman of BHP Billiton and has been awarded both the Order of Australia Medal and the Order of Ellis Island Medal. Not a bad effort.

We have produced many great sportsmen, like Nick Shehadie who captained the National Rugby Union side and went on to become Lord Mayor of Sydney. Other sportsmen we claim include Ben Elias, Hazem el-Masri, Tim Mannah and Robbie Farah, all great Rugby League players. Benny is a boy from the Village, like my father.

We have produced a great writer in David Malouf, a State Premier in Steve Bracks and a State Governor in Marie Bashir. A controversial and fiercely independent member of the lower house of the Australian Parliament, Bob Katter, is of Lebanese ancestry.

We have produced some fine Australian businessmen, like John Symonds (the founder of Aussie Home Loans), Ron Bakir (who founded the Crazy Ron's mobile phone chain) and Steve Ackerie  (whose Stefan hair salons are a true Queensland icon). Other less savoury businessmen who are Aussie Lebs include Tony Mokbel and John Ibrahim.

One of our own, Joe Hachem, became a world champion poker player.

In my own extended family, we boast two members of the judiciary and a Macquarie Street specialist doctor.

Another notable Aussie Leb who profoundly changed my own life is a colourful Brisbane lawyer called Joe Ganim. Many years ago, Joe and his best mate, Paul Hopgood, started a legal firm as brash young men. That firm grew and prospered quickly and is now a major player in the Australian legal market, employing over a hundred lawyers.

A little over five years ago,  I ran into Joe in the street. It was obscenely early in the morning and I was grabbing a coffee on the way to work. I was with another legal firm at the time.

Joe was dressed in expensive running gear and was covered in sweat. It appeared that he had been jogging, or at least walking pretty fast. His chunky gold chains were swaying and clinking and a rug of luxuriant chest hair refused to be contained by his tight, white jogging shirt.

Joe asked me, "When are you going to join my firm? I've asked you a couple of times before and I'm going to try again."

At least I thought that is what he said. He was puffing so hard that I was contemplating calling an ambulance.

I told Joe that I was interested and he smiled and flashed a gold tooth. A few weeks later I started working for Hopgood Ganim. I am now one of two Australian Lebanese partners of the firm. My dear mate Freda Wigan is the other. She practises in Family Law so she is ipso facto clinically insane. Joe has now semi-retired (ie he now does only eighty hour weeks) and remains a consultant to the firm.

Hopgood Ganim has been very good to me and Camilla whilst I have been holed up in hospital. The firm philosophy is Business Mateship and it's not just a slogan. The people in the firm make sure they try to live it every day. My partners and colleagues often visit me and help out Camilla whenever they can. Our General Manager cut her lawn one day whilst I was in the coma. Not that I would have otherwise cut it myself. The only tool I can successfully use around the house is the chequebook. To me, manual labour is a Spanish bricklayer.

When I get well, my father is going to take me to Lebanon. I want to see the Village. Or villages, more correctly. There are actually two. The higher village in covered in snow over winter so everyone relocates to the lower village down in the valley. Everyone moves twice a year. Like they have done for centuries.

Lebanese people are clever and tough. Our forebears invented the alphabet and modern sailing.  I really want to see the country of my fathers before I die of old, old, old age. I want to see Byblos, the oldest continuously inhabited city in the world. I want to see the towering Roman ruins of Baalbek. I want to play blackjack at Jounieh. I want to see the port cities of Sidon and Tyre, mentioned frequently in the Bible. I want to see the cedars at Becharre, a few miles from the Village. I want to visit wineries in the Bekaa Valley.  I want to see the catacombs and churches used by ancient maronite monks like St Charbel. I've said a few prayers to St Charbel but he's proven to be quite useless at getting me a heart so I'm switching to St Jude.

For now, it's matter of staying in hospital and waiting. No choice, really. I suppose it's a chance to live the pure life of a monk for a while. Mind you, I did not even vaguely consider the monastic option when making my career choice.

The title of today's blog poses a question: Why do Lebanese men wear gold chains? Ten points for the answer. It's hidden in the text.


Until next time,