Mohammed Ali Yassine, aka Steve, is two years Mike's junior, but his graying temples make him look older. He became a multimillionaire and took his brothers with him. Chubby, balding, always smiling broadly in photographs, the 40-year-old Lebanese immigrant had risen from nothing, renting Downtown properties and renovating them into night clubs. The figurehead was Hussein Ali Yassine: Better known as Mike, he was the founder of Yassine Enterprises and, by all ordinary measures, a true American success story.
And speaking of Willie, hunt down his 1984 movie Songwriter: Rumor has always had it that the inspiration for gun-toting, wheeler-dealer promoter Dino McLeish was none other than Tim O'Connor of Direct Events – half the club bookers in town built their Rolodexes in O'Connor's offices.īut the Yassines were a different breed on a different level – the forefathers of a new generation of upscale clubs. As for run-ins with the IRS, that virtually elevates you to the status of folk hero – just ask Willie Nelson. In more recent years, Clifford Antone remained the heart of the live music scene in spite of (or, some might argue, because of) his two convictions for marijuana distribution. Take Ben Thompson, the elected city marshal in the 1880s: Before he was gunned down in a San Antonio vaudeville theatre, he lurched from war hero to felon to saloon owner to wanted murderer to peace officer. Austin's Downtown club scene has not always been a virginal institution – rather, it's part of the charming outlaw legend. "Under the Borgias they had warfare, terror, murder, and bloodshed, but they produced Michelangelo." It's easy to turn a profit if you don't pay your taxes and deal coke on the side. And since half the time they looked empty, how were these places making any money? The feds and the state of Texas think they know. Kiss & Fly had a reputation for being the least gay-friendly gay bar in town.
Disgruntled ex-employees were suing over unpaid salaries.
No one could ever accuse them of scrimping on their bars, but on the street, they were always divisive. They were the men who introduced bottle service to Austin and built a shark tank into the dance floor at Qua. Theirs were the glossy, high-end, high-concept establishments – one step below private clubs, one step above shot bars. To some, the Yassines were the kings of Sixth and the Warehouse District. Without any prompting or details, someone asked: "Is it the Yassines?" Nothing – but then something strange happened. Before heading Downtown to check out the busts myself, I asked around to see if anyone in the office had heard anything. That was the proverbial tip of the iceberg: Backed by a slew of acronyms in uniform – the IRS, TABC, APD, and the state Comptroller's Office – the feds were moving from bar to bar in what was clearly a targeted operation and not some random sweep.
Sixth Street workers were saying the FBI was out in force and in full SWAT gear, dragging boxes out of Treasure Island and into a U-Haul trailer. Reports were vague, but this was not a polite operation. This was Austin in campaign season, not Chicago during Prohibition.Īnd then the word came: The feds had raided a bunch of Downtown bars. March 22 was a slow day on the News desk.