THE TAO OF SAM
Published in the September 13, 2025 edition.
What always struck one about Sam Walker was a palpable sense of “other.”
Yes, he was pleasant and charismatic and successful – that made him easily accepted by the world.
But he was not “of” the larger world. He did not fall prey, for example, to the wisdom of crowds. Because he did not accept conventional wisdom as wisdom. He merely thought it conventional.
Sam was born in Riverside, Calif. on June 30, 1942. He was the third of four sons; his father was a successful attorney, his mother a homemaker.
He attended the Webb School in Claremont, Calif. for high school, and then spent two years at the University of Colorado before Sam and the institution decided to part ways. He wasn’t interested in their academic curriculum. Besides, it was proving an intrusion upon his social calendar.
Young Walker was working as a bellhop at the Mammoth Mountain Inn when he caught his first big break. L.A. businessman Jerry Buss (future owner of the L.A. Lakers) observed Walker policing a ski lift line and liked what he saw. The kid could handle conflict and mete out justice in a lawless environment. So perhaps he could handle the new restaurant Buss was building in Mammoth Lakes.
While the restaurant, named Rafters, was under construction, Walker took a job at The Smokehouse in Toluca Lake to learn the restaurant business.
And by the time Rafters opened in December, 1969, he had recruited Dennis Hartman to serve as his right-hand man.
The pair enjoyed great success at the Rafters, but Walker’s relationship with Buss soured over Buss reneging on a promise of profit-sharing.
That’s when Walker and Hartman began to court Harry and Jean McKee, who owned the northwest corner at Main and Minaret. The McKees had just won a liquor license at auction and wanted to open a steakhouse.
“We begged ‘em to partner with us as the operators, but they wanted a chain,” recalled Hartman. “but all the chains weren’t interested in Mammoth. It was still too remote. So as a last resort, they said ‘we’ll go with you.’”
Whiskey Creek Mammoth opened on Dec. 6, 1971, with the crib of Dennis’s four-week old baby perched on the fireplace mantel.
It was an instant smash. They’d turn the 120-seat restaurant over 3.5 times a night, serving 400 dinners. Sam was in charge of the back of the house, Dennis the front, and the two jointly managed the bar. With that separation of powers, they didn’t “bump into each other.”
“We never had an argument,” said Hartman. “And we never clashed.”
But while Sam was a good boss and an excellent partner, he wasn’t one to suffer fools. As Hartman said, “He set very high expectations and he was easily dissatisfied.”
Daughter Mimi echoed, “He was not always easy to work for, but you were proud to work for him. You couldn’t just show up and cruise. He ran a tight ship and demanded your best.”
Again, the pair were almost too successful for their own good.
The restaurant was making so much money that the McKees (or their lawyer anyway) began having second thoughts about selling the place (despite there being a buy option in the agreement). Ultimately, however, McKee was good to his word, and Walker and Hartman became owners of Whiskey Creek Mammoth in 1974 and opened Whiskey Creek Bishop in 1976.
Walker subsequently bought out Hartman in 1981.
On the personal front, Sam had always carried a torch for Shelley Brandt, whose mother’s family had ties to Riverside as citrus growers.
So they knew each other through family as youths and then reconnected at a reception following the wedding of Sam’s younger brother David.
By then, Shelley was divorced and had three young children. This was not a circumstance which typically invited a line of suitors around the block, but in Sam’s mind, he’d been late to the punch on the first go and wasn’t going to be late again.
Over the course of the next year, they met twice for two-days each. At the end of the second visit, Sam proposed and Shelley said yes.
They had less than a month to get married before the ski season.
And wed on December 13, 1973. At the time, Shelley’s children were 10 (Joe), 9 (Chris) and 5 (Mimi).
Family friend Dominique Naylon observed that in his marriage, Sam’s role was somewhat reversed. He was more “front man” while Shelley ran the back of the house. But do not mistake her reserve for pliance. Her dry wit and humor are formidable. “She was his best-kept secret,” said Naylon.
As a father and as a boss, there were no shortcuts. Sam didn’t hand you anything. Even his daughter Mimi had to interview for her first managerial job.
Norm Matoza started with Sam as a reserve dishwasher while he was a high schooler in Mammoth.
And was hired to run the Bishop location in 1978 when he was pretty fresh out of college.
“I’ll teach you everything you need to know,” Sam told him.
“He was really great at empowering people,” said Matoza. “And he’d back you … but we wasn’t okay with getting BS’d.”
Sheet: You ever try to BS him?
Matoza: Oh, I saw it, but I never tried it.
What peeved Sam the most? Managers who couldn’t make a decision. “Sam would always say a bad decision is better than none because at least you can fix a bad decision.”
Matoza said many of Sam’s business principles were derived from “In Search of Excellence,” a seminal book on business by Tom Peters and Robert Waterman published in 1982.
Sure enough, a bias for action and hands-on, value-driven management were core tenets of the book.
“He was a hard worker, and expected you’d work as hard as he did,” said Matoza.
“When you’re running a successful business, they [potential buyers] see the wealth,” said daughter Mimi. “But they don’t see that they’re gonna be working 24/7. And that they gotta be rowing in the boat [alongside staff].”
Speaking of boats …
A theme that many touched upon in our conversations was Sam’s taste for the trapeze, if you will. “He was the bravest man I ever met,” said son Chris.
He skied fast, flew planes, bought catamarans and learned how to sail them on the fly – he had faith in his capacity to handle any situation, and almost welcomed predicaments – equipment failure, bad weather … as if the chaos of restaurants had fully prepared him.
There was the flight into Grand Junction for son Joe’s college graduation, and daughter Mimi asking “Why is there toilet paper going by the window?”
Those were pieces of ice which had been building up on the wing before being shed.
They landed with the stall warning blaring inside the aircraft.
He didn’t know a damn thing about sailing but bought a catamaran – and sailed it from Costa Rica and up the coast of Mexico to the San Francisco Bay.
As Mentor
Dominique Naylon arrived in Mammoth as a wine broker – she worked directly for small wineries rather than as a rep for a distributor. Sam immediately loved this – any deal without another mark-up or middleman appealed to his sensibility, and he introduced Naylon to all the restaurateurs in town.
But beyond that, Sam developed an interest in wine, and as Naylon said, he did so with wonder and without ego.
She recalls putting together winemaker dinners in the fall to drive some business. She had one sold out dinner at the Mammoth Mountain Inn she was going to have to cancel because the date was going to fall during the “crush” – that critical period in the winemaking process with the arrival and crushing of the harvested grapes.
Enter Sam. He flew over to get the winemakers and he flew ‘em back after – for an event at a restaurant that wasn’t his.
As Naylon recalled this week, “ I was too naive to even think about buying his fuel. Here I am, 45 years later saying to myself, ‘Oh shit. I forgot. And I can’t even offer a belated thank you.’”
As Leader
Vivian Patterson got to know the Walkers because Sam and her husband Dave sat together on the California Restaurant Assn. board of directors.
But then, Viv and Dave sold their restaurant and decided to move to the Eastern Sierra. This was in the 1990s.
“I sent a letter to like six people,” Viv recalled. “And I also sent Sam a copy, asking if he’d put in a good word for us.”
Sam called immediately. “Norm gave notice this morning,” he said. “And you’re replacing him.”
Viv: “Well, Dave needs a job, too.”
Sam: “I’ve got room for two.”
The Pattersons subsequently ran the Whiskey Creek Bishop location for four years.
And as Viv says, “He left me alone to run the business like I owned it. He was both trusting and generous.”
It was during this four-year period that Sam was freed up to start the Mammoth Brewing Company (with Norm) and create Bluesapalooza with Jim Vanko.
But there was one trying moment where the restaurant staff circulated a petition in protest of Viv’s management – staff was upset that Viv prohibited drinking on the job.
So Sam literally shut down the restaurant for an evening, called a full staff meeting, and said something to the effect of, “I understand there’s a petition circulating. And after careful consideration, I’ve decided to back Viv so if you don’t want to work here, there’s the door.”
Five minutes of uncomfortable silence followed. No one left.
Sam knew how to stare down a mob.
As Mr. Clutch
Jon Eisert was another one who had Sam to thank for kicking his ass when he started to let his partying get in the way of running his business.
“He strongly urged me to recognize my good fortune [in operating a successful business in Mammoth] and not to blow it,” said Eisert.
Later, as they became friends (and Norm Matoza also charted a similar path from employee to partner to friend), Eisert and Walker took a golf trip to Bandon Dunes in Oregon. 18 holes the first day, 36 the second and 18 the third.
They’re tied as they head to the 16th tee on the final day.
Eisert creates a distraction with a photo op so one of the caddies can replace Sam’s ball with a “chalk” ball which exploded on impact.
Ha ha and all that as Sam wiped the chalk off his face and clothes before re-teeing his ball.
He parred the hole and ultimately won the match.
And afterwards put his finger in Eisert’s chest and said, “Don’t you ever pull that shit, again.”
No one rattled Sam Walker.
Sam is survived by his wife Shelley; son Joe, his wife Heloise, and children Sam, Cary and Sean; son Chris, wife Lara and their daughters Ruby and Ella; daughter Mimi and husband Tim Hanson and their children Tea and Lars.
There will be a celebration of life sometime next spring.
A final little vignette, and I only mention this because Sam told the story to me more than once (so you’d think I’d recall the details with more clarity!). He told me about a trip he took to Scotland (Ireland?) and he was sitting on a barstool having a philosophical conversation with some locals and the topic came up of retirement and when you knew it was time and what you needed to be able to retire.
And the answer to that final question was simple and encapsulated in one word. “Enough.”
And I think Sam found that very un-American answer quite liberating. And informed some of his later decisions, like helping Rachel Kulchin purchase the Blue Heron Farm, or collaborating to build the Eastern Sierra Business Resource Center in downtown Bishop. He was at heart community-minded and that’s where he liked to place his bets.
