How Col. Sam Robertson Built, Promoted, and Lost Del Mar Beach on the Edge of the Rio Grande
The Rise and Fall of Del Mar Beach Resort, 1926–1942
In the early decades of the twentieth century, Cameron County was still being engineered into modernity. Railroads were expanding. Irrigation systems were transforming agriculture. Roads pushed steadily east toward the Gulf. The lower Rio Grande Valley was not yet finished — it was being built.
Colonel Sam Robertson understood something fundamental about that transformation. He often repeated an axiom that guided his life:
“Civilization follows transportation.”
For Robertson, transportation was not merely about roads or ferries — it was about opportunity.
From Sheriff to Seaside Promoter
By the mid-1920s, Robertson had already served as a civil engineer, infrastructure promoter, and Sheriff of Cameron County. In 1926 he resigned his office and organized the Brazos de Santiago Pass Ferry Company, connecting Padre Island and mainland interests through ferry services and early causeway projects. Telephone lines were stretched across stretches of undeveloped coastline. Ocean drives were proposed. Padre Island real estate was aggressively promoted.
Financial collapse in 1928 forced Robertson and associates to relinquish major holdings on Padre Island. Yet Robertson did not retreat. Instead, he pivoted southward toward Brazos de Santiago Island and Boca Chica.
In 1931, after acquiring the Boca Chica toll bridge and adjacent property through debt settlement, Robertson announced the opening of a new coastal village: Del Mar Beach Resort.
A Village on the Edge of the Gulf
Del Mar was accessible from Brownsville by asphalt road and toll bridge. Though primitive in construction — later described humorously by journalists as “rule-of-thumb engineering” — the route worked. Cars reached the beach.
The resort included approximately twenty day cabins, a bathhouse, a ballroom pavilion, a restaurant, and its own post office. Robertson himself served as postmaster. Granite jetties at Brazos Pass — part of a $3 million federal engineering effort — were decked for fishing. Charter boats carried anglers into the Gulf and Laguna Madre.
Promotional materials emphasized:
• King mackerel, tarpon, redfish, snapper
• Spearing flounder by torchlight
• Shrimp, oysters, and crabs in abundance
• Gulf breezes believed to relieve hay fever and asthma
• “Same latitude as Miami, Florida”
Del Mar was presented as invigorating, modern, and healthful — a seaside alternative for Valley residents and visiting tourists.
But infrastructure alone does not create crowds.
Robertson understood that attention must be cultivated.
Spectacle and Promotion
The early 1930s were competitive years for tourism. Resorts across the Gulf Coast relied on spectacle, contests, and headline attractions to draw visitors. Del Mar was no exception.
Fishing tournaments awarded prize money and were heavily promoted in partnership with local rail interests. Big band music echoed from the pavilion. Beauty pageants crowned regional winners and drew thousands of spectators.
In April 1933, Robertson and his wife Maria sponsored one of the most dramatic promotional events in Del Mar’s history — a skydiving exhibition by William G. Swan, billed in newspapers as the “Human Rocket.” Advertisements described Swan ascending thousands of feet before plunging earthward in a daring aerial display over the Gulf.
The event ended in tragedy when Swan’s parachute failed to deploy properly. He fell to his death over open water.
The incident illustrates both the ambition and the volatility of Depression-era promotion. Resorts sought increasingly bold attractions to distinguish themselves. Del Mar was part of that national pattern — energetic, experimental, and sometimes perilous.
Despite the accident, the resort continued operations.
Then came September 5, 1933.
The Hurricane
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The Tampico Hurricane struck near Del Mar with winds estimated at 125 miles per hour. Robertson and several others rode out the storm at the resort. Damage was extensive. Later storytelling exaggerated the destruction, but contemporary reports confirm that Del Mar was battered — not erased.
Robertson rebuilt.
By spring 1934, newspapers reported 26 new cottages constructed stronger than before, positioned above storm tide lines and reinforced against future winds. Back roads were improved. Marketing resumed with renewed vigor.
Winter rate reductions of up to 40 percent were advertised. Mid-week specials targeted Valley residents and occupational groups such as oil workers. Attendance records show thousands visiting during major events in 1937 and 1938.
The post-hurricane years became Del Mar’s most visible cultural phase.
Valley Bathing Beauties
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In 1939, Miriam Wilde of Brownsville won the Valley Bathing Beauties competition held at Del Mar. Photographs show her wearing a sash and holding a trophy cup. She was later identified in promotional material as “Miss Del Mar 1939.”
Postcards and brochures featured her image against the Gulf and Rio Grande backdrop. One card proclaimed:
“The water’s fine the year around on the bathing beaches at Brownsville, down on the Rio Grande just across from Old Mexico.”
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1940 0314 Brownsville Texas Miss Miriam Wilde Stands at Rio Grande - one foot in each nation
Beauty pageants were not casual diversions. They were organized regional events drawing participants from Brownsville, McAllen, San Benito, and Fort Brown, and attracting crowds numbering in the thousands. During its recovery phase after the hurricane, Del Mar presented itself as youthful, confident, and culturally active.
Miriam Wilde became a face of that optimism.
The End of an Era
On July 4, 1938, Robertson hosted a reunion with his brothers at Del Mar — their first gathering in 42 years. He was already in declining health, suffering from cardiac complications and long-standing diabetes.
He died on August 22, 1938.
His wife Maria, a Viennese-born pianist who had long provided music at the pavilion, continued operating the resort with assistance from family. But the world was changing.
On November 26, 1942, during World War II, Maria announced the closing of Del Mar Beach Resort at the request of the United States Coast Guard. The beach was needed for an observation post. The government leased the property.
Del Mar did not reopen.
Afterward
In later decades, the resort faded into coastal memory. By the early twenty-first century, only remnants could be seen at low tide north of Highway 4.
Today, the same stretch of coastline is associated with an entirely different frontier — aerospace launch facilities at Boca Chica.
Yet Robertson’s phrase still echoes across generations:
“Civilization follows transportation.”
Railroads, ferries, toll bridges, asphalt roads — and now launch pads.
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Del Mar Beach Resort existed for little more than a decade as a fully realized seaside village. Within that brief span it reflected the Valley’s ambitions: engineering optimism, promotional daring, regional pageantry, vulnerability to nature, wartime interruption, and eventual transformation.
Its story is not nostalgic — it is structural. It is part of how South Texas was built.
Sources
Brownsville Herald, various issues 1932–1940 (Del Mar advertisements, beauty pageants, Human Rocket coverage).
Port Isabel Pilot, April 11, 1934 (rebuilding report).
Hart Stilwell, “The Legendary Col. Sam of Old Padre Island,” Houston Chronicle, Texas Magazine, 1975.
Thomas Allen profile on Col. Sam Robertson (genealogical compilation and archival references).
Valley Morning Star, “Hathcock History: Early Days of Island Resorts.”
Brownsville Herald, Tarpon Rodeo and fishing tournament coverage, 1934–1938.
Brownsville Herald, Nov. 26, 1942 (closure announcement under Coast Guard request).
Brownsville Herald, 2003 articles on Boca Chica and Del Mar historical remnants.
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