The GM Steakhouse occupies a special place in Austin’s nostalgic past for me. I knew of it before I moved here and ate there until it’s departure. It exemplified aspects of old Austin that don’t exist any more, while at the same time, it was romanticized beyond its reality. Much can be learned about the transition Austin has undergone–and continues to undergo–as we grow and grow and grow.

This little diner will forever be frozen in time by its appearance (and a good one at that) in Richard Linklater’s 1991 indie classic Slacker. So much to love about these few minutes of film. Our main-character-of-the-moment is offered a free paper right outside of GM Steakhouse but declines. Of course, his own coins don’t work, and he’s forced to ask a stranger (Abra Moore!) for change. She misunderstands and tells him to get a job. Once inside, he confronts a living, breathing bowl of crazy in the form of a woman at the counter.

“You should never traumatize a woman sexually. I should know, I’m a medical doctor. You should never, traumatize, you should never…” and on and on it goes until the real-world owner of the joint, Gus, tells the innocent listener to knock it off. (Cameo by Louis Black, co-founder of the Austin Chronicle and SXSW, as well.) Before I moved to Austin, I completely expected to see crazy people like this on a regular basis. Instead it’s only been occasionally.

Once I did move to town, I made a point to head down for breakfast at GM Steakhouse. I lucked out and sat next to a regular who ordered the breakfast tacos. Next trip down, I understood why. They were a marvel, a perfect combination of diner food and that most-perfect Texas breakfast staple. Hash browns were cooked with onions, tomatoes, and sausage until a couple of eggs were broken over the top. All this was scrambled together and placed stuffed into two griddled flour tortillas. Some picante sauce rounded out this meal that I still miss to this day. *sigh*

The food at GM was secondary. The atmosphere was certainly something, a call-back to the golden age of diners with a signature patina of grease and dirt on every surface, but the people were the secret treat. Gus Vayas was the constant, an acerbic Greek restauranteur who didn’t suffer fools (or anyone) lightly. He always had a cigar in his mouth; even after anti-smoking laws were passed, he kept an until one dangling. A definite character. There was always a female behind the counter who somehow managed to put up with the environment and bring a small amount of softness to a fairly hard place. The lynchpin of the entire establishment, however, was Billy. I’ll never forget him.

Billy was a youngish guy who had been in Gus’s employ for what looked like a good, long time. He came off as a little slow, but definitely a hard worker. My ultimate moment with this pair happened one day when Billy sat down a tray of dishes a little too hard, and Gus yelled at him in front of me and the two other patrons. Billy stormed off, throwing his apron to the ground. The waitress-du-jour gently chastised Gus, who blew it off, saying Billy had overreacted. Sure enough, before my meal was through, Billy was back, apron on, unloading the dishes. That’s just the way things were around there.

Finally, in 2005, GM Steakhouse gave up the ghost. I knew Austin would mourn it–that’s one of our favorite pastimes–but this one felt different. A place like GM Steakhouse just couldn’t exist in the new Austin. Virginia B. Wood of the Chronicle explained it best:

During its heyday, the GM was the favored early morning hangout of powerful comptroller and then lieutenant governor Bob Bullock and his cronies. Vayas even has a plaque declaring his restaurant an official favorite of the Texas Legislature. By the mid-Nineties, things had begun to change dramatically around the GM. The car lots and empty spaces were gobbled up and redeveloped. The corner of Sixth and Lamar became the hub of a new retail universe.Whole Foods Market and BookPeople built attractive flagship stores across the street; … and neighborhood property values began a steady and inexorable climb. By the turn of the new century, Mr. Bullock and his generation of lawmakers had retired or passed away, and their replacements somehow didn’t adopt the GM as their spot.

Wood nails it. The world around GM changed, and there was no reason to hope for it to be otherwise. I was living in Seattle in 2005, but during a visit, I went by the newly vacant building to reminisce and shoot some photos. It was just as I remembered, but without the smell of grease and the sound of dysfunction. And without that, what is there, really?