The Hotel That Refused to Die

In the late 1920s, while Prohibition gripped the United States, John Stone was quietly building something very different just south of the border. Stone drilled a water well and began flying in guests from Phoenix and Tucson to Puerto Peñasco, offering them what was banned back home: gambling, alcohol, and the warmth of the Sonoran sun. Local folklore insists that Al Capone himself was an early visitor, perhaps even setting up shop to store liquor before it made its way north.

Today, the building once known as the Marine Club is the Posada La Roca, a modest hotel in Puerto Peñasco’s Old Town. Curious to separate fact from legend, I arranged an interview with the current proprietor, Jorge. We met on September 4, 2025, around 6 p.m. at the hotel.

The structure is a single-story, rectangular stone building sitting on what was once a prominent corner near the marina and malecón. Outside, vines twist up a chain-link fence, providing a measure of privacy and a telling sign of things to come.

Inside, the front entrance opens directly into the office, with a clear line of sight down the central hallway. A desk sits to the left, and the walls are decorated with black-and-white photographs of Peñasco in its early days. Among them hangs a newspaper clipping about Capone’s “Madonna Mia,” a musical piece he wrote while in Alcatraz. A recruiting poster of Pancho Villa beckons Americans to join the Mexican Revolution. Another photograph shows a man and woman posed in front of a small plane.

We were greeted not by Jorge Sr., who was away in Hermosillo on business, but by his son, Jorge Jr. Polite and soft-spoken, Jorge Jr. finished sweeping the hallway before ushering us in. The air inside was stifling, no air conditioning, no fans, windows shut tight. Outside, the temperature lingered in the mid-90s, but inside it felt warmer still. He made it clear that his father would know more than he did about the history and correlation with Capone. There were no guests anywhere in the building.

The lobby held more photographs, along with a couple of motorcycles and a bicycle. Jorge explained that this space had once been the casino floor, with the guest rooms extending back from it. About halfway down the hallway, two smaller doors caught his attention, they were once public restrooms that led outside. One has since been sealed with rocks, the other converted into a bedroom.

A quick online search had pointed me toward room number 10 as Capone’s alleged quarters, though hard evidence is lacking. When Jorge led us past the other rooms straight to number 10, he remarked, “This room has something to do with Capone.” The room hadn’t been cleaned and showed signs of disrepair, but its location was telling: tucked at the far back, with an exit leading directly to a courtyard. For a man as cautious as Capone, it would have been a fitting choice.

"1896 Chicago" stamped on the back

Jorge went on to describe how the original hotel once had tunnels running underground, connecting the port to various buildings in town. Those passages, he said, have long since been sealed off due to infestations of rats from the marina.

Flags hung from the hallway ceiling, representing various countries. When asked, Jorge explained that he is a pilot who enjoys traveling. He had recently returned from Germany, where he taught at a flight school for several months. He described Puerto Peñasco as a place where life moves slowly, with little happening day to day. The flags, he added, were souvenirs from his travels, a nod to the prestige he still holds with his airline, which allows him to fly for free.

On our way out, Jorge stopped at the photograph of the couple with the plane. Pointing to the woman, he told me she was his grandmother, Maria.

Before we left, Jorge promised to let his father know I would be reaching out for more information. With a smile, he added a parting request: “Bring him some cerveza - he likes Victoria. He’ll show you everything he has.”

Part Two:

After several days of missed connections, I finally met Jorge Selder on September 12, 2025, at around 16:00 at the Posada La Roca. I handed him an ice-cold six pack of Victoria, which he placed in the fridge in his room. He returned to the lobby and invited me to sit down. Before joining me, he asked if we could move to a cooler room. I agreed, and he led me to the first hotel room on the right. Inside was a double bed and a single chair. He asked me to take the chair while he sat sideways on the bed. The ceiling fan stirred the warm air. Before beginning, I asked if I could record our conversation. “Of course,” he replied.

Jorge started with the history of the hotel, explaining that John Stone had built it using money from Al Capone. Stone saw opportunity in what was then called Rocky Point, a name given by British Merchant Marine Officer Robert William Hale Hardy in 1826. Hardy described the place in his journal Travels in the Interior of Mexico: in 1825–8, published in 1829. The name stuck until 1936, when President Lázaro Cárdenas visited during his campaign. He promised infrastructure improvements and pushed for a railway linking Baja California and Sonora with the rest of Mexico. In the spirit of Mexican identity, the town was renamed Punta Puerto Peñasco and later shortened to Puerto Peñasco.

Stone brought in N.P. McGee from Minnesota with a bulldozer hauled down from Arizona to flatten the land. Locals carved stone blocks directly from Whale Hill with hand tools. Stone envisioned a place where he could fly guests from Phoenix and Tucson using his Scenic Airline, offering gambling and alcohol, both still legal in Mexico. He dug the area’s only well, installed gambling tables, and brought barrels of mescal from Guaymas by boat. Locals resented him for refusing to share water, but Stone’s operation thrived. According to Jorge, tourists came to Rocky Point while mescal was quietly smuggled back into the United States on returning planes.

The Marine Club 1929

Jorge pointing to the Marine Club

When I asked how his family became involved, Jorge explained that his grandfather, Benjamin Bustamante, was born in Bisbee, Arizona, in 1895 but his family was from Pitiquito, Sonora. His grandmother, Tecla, was born in Pitiquito in 1896 but moved to Bisbee as a child. Both were fluent in English. After meeting in their twenties, they launched a business trading fish.They focused on totoaba, a species highly prized for its swim bladder, believed (incorrectly) to have medicinal properties. Although fishing totoaba was banned in 1975, it continues to fuel a black market in Asia. Tecla, Jorge said, was a strong woman and likely the first settler of Puerto Peñasco. She remained there even as Benjamin left for seasonal fishing trips.

Fishing in those days was abundant. This was 1925, before the Hoover Dam choked off the Colorado River and altered the Sea of Cortez. The Bustamantes, respected in the community, befriended Stone and soon helped him manage the hotel. They registered guests, mixed concrete, and did whatever needed doing.

At one point Jorge broke from the story. With a laugh, he said his grandfather once drove for Pancho Villa. But after the shooting started, Benjamin quit. “This is not for me,” he said.

Back at the hotel, business thrived. Visitors came for drinking, gambling, fishing, and the company of women. But the end of Prohibition in the United States and a shift in Sonora’s political climate soon closed the chapter. Furious that Mexican authorities blocked his operations, Stone blew up the town’s only well, set fire to the hotel, and left for Ajo, Arizona, where he continued his operations at the Hotel Cornelia which he also owned.

The Bustamante's stayed behind. They repaired and cleaned the building, which by 1935 became a community hub. The first telegraph and post office opened in the back of the hotel, in what is now Room 10. Later, some rooms became classrooms for children through fourth grade. Business revived during the railroad construction and subsequent completion.

As for Capone, Jorge clarified that he never stayed at the hotel but visited twice, in 1929 and 1933, to check on business. Jorge recalled a story told by his grandmother. His grandfather once returned from San Diego with a newspaper featuring Capone on the cover. He showed it to Tecla, saying, “This is the man who was in the hotel with me.” Decades later, Tecla showed the same paper to young Jorge, though after her death it disappeared along with her meticulous visitor logs and even the stacks of worthless local army currency she once saved.

The Bustamantes did not gain legal ownership of the property until 1952, when Tecla formally registered it. Benjamin had been killed in 1935 in Pitiquito after stepping in to protect a woman during an altercation. Tecla, then 39, was left to raise their daughters, Maria and Gloria. Maria would later become Jorge’s mother.

Tecla eventually rented the hotel to an American businessman who plastered the original stone walls and painted the rooms in what he perceived to be Mexican colors. “It looked like a whorehouse,” Jorge said. By the 1990s, the property had fallen into disrepair again. After Tecla’s passing, Jorge and his brother Roberto took ownership and began restoration. He recalled expecting to find rotted wood, but instead discovered mesquite, a hard wood once used to make boats in the area. With a smile he noted that while driving back to Arizona, just across the border, one can see mesquite trees everywhere. “Down here, we used them all for boats.”

He asked his wife, Eloisa, whether she thought it was possible to make a living by running the hotel or not. Her answer was simple. “If your grandmother could do it, you can too.” They committed themselves to the work. Tourism boomed after state-funded resorts drew more visitors. At first, local hoteliers worried they would lose business. Instead, occupancy soared. “We used to say there are no tourists because there are no hotels, and there are no hotels because there are no tourists,” Jorge remembered. For years, the hotel was full every night. Then political turmoil and economic pressures slowed the tide of prosperity. Visitors still came, but never in the same numbers.

Today, Posada La Roca, once the Marine Club and Hotel Peñasco, still stands. Much of the stonework has been plastered over and most of the floors covered, yet its foundation remains. It embodies a history of entrepreneurship, resilience, and family. From the Stones to the Bustamantes and now the Selders, the hotel endures in the old town of Puerto Peñasco. Time, however, continues its slow attempt to reclaim it.

When I asked Jorge if his son might one day take over, he shrugged. “Maybe, maybe not.” I asked if he had considered selling. He gave a short reply. “Sure.” I let the subject rest.

What started with a curiosity about Al Capone turned into a story much more interesting, filled with living characters proud of their role in history. Al Capone may have been to Rocky Point, he may have even been inside room number ten. However, Al Capone never met Jorge. I left with a new take on the history of the hotel and a man who is a legend in his own right. I joked about the hotel having a t-shirt saying, "Posada La Roca, where Al Capone caught syphilis, all you'll catch now are some zzz's." I'm probably not the best marketing salesman.

Since ending our conversation that evening Jorge and I have been communicating, sharing reports of both documented and new material. I found some photographs of his grandmother that he has never seen and he briefly described those that he has.

All the rooms now have their own bathroom and AC units. Rates are $65/night for a three bedroom or $55/night for a two bedroom. There is no website for booking, instead give Jorge a call, and tell him Jim said hola.