Marco Island is often described as a success story–an expertly planned coastal city that emerged in the 1960s and grew into one of the most desirable places to live in Southwest Florida.

And that is true. But it is not the whole story.

Because long before the canals were dredged and the neighborhoods were mapped, Marco Island was already alive–with industry, community, and people making a living from the waters that still define this place today.

To understand what makes Marco Island special, you have to go back – to Caxambas.

At the southern end of the island, Caxambas was not a romantic outpost of isolated pioneers. It was a working village–practical, productive, and built around opportunity. The people there were not chasing hardship; they were earning a living from the rich clamming grounds of Caxambas Bay.

At the center of that economy was the Burnham Clam Cannery, which opened in Caxambas in the early 1900s and served for years as an economic engine of the island. This was not a struggling settlement. It was a functioning, working community tied directly to the natural resources around it.

And Caxambas was not alone. Old Marco, on the north end of the island, had its own history and its own working waterfront. Marco Island’s earliest permanent settlement traces back to Capt. Bill Collier and his father, W.D. Collier, in Old Marco, long before the later phases of development took shape.

Old Marco also became home to the Doxsee clam factory, which opened after Burnham’s operation. The relationship between the two communities is important because when storm damage forced Burnham’s Caxambas operation to close, Doxsee reopened it to help keep the Caxambas workers employed. That detail says a lot about the island’s early character. These were not disconnected fragments on a map. They were working communities, linked by water, labor, and necessity. And for a time, that world worked. But economies change. Resources decline. Plans shift.

As the clamming resources of Caxambas Bay were depleted, the economic foundation of Caxambas began to weaken. Barron Collier also had a larger vision for the southern end of the island: transforming Caxambas into a deep-water port. One can only imagine what Marco Island would look like today if that plan had succeeded and the southern end of the island had eventually become a major shipping–or even cruise–port.

That plan never fully materialized during Barron Collier’s lifetime. He died in 1939. A decade later, beginning around 1949, the relocation of Caxambas residents was prompted by his sons, who moved to vacate Caxambas for reasons beyond the original port ambition.

The homes of many Caxambas workers were physically moved to nearby Goodland, where a new chapter began. And if you spend any time in Goodland today, you can still feel that independent, working-waterfront spirit–something that did not disappear but simply relocated and endured.

That matters. Because it reframes the story.

Marco Island did not rise from failure. It evolved from working communities that had already proven the land could support life, industry, and purpose.

By the time the Mackle Brothers arrived in the 1960s, the island was not empty. It was simply ready for a different kind of vision. What they built was extraordinary.

They reshaped the island with canals, infrastructure, and planning that turned Marco Island into a destination. They brought scale, accessibility, and a new economic model centered around lifestyle and real estate.

In that sense, the idea of Marco Island as a kind of phoenix still holds—but not rising from failure. Instead, it rose from earlier chapters that had run their course, shaped by changing resources, shifting economics, and new ambitions.

What we see today is the continuation of that evolution—not a beginning, but a transformation. Each phase of the island’s history built on the last, shaped by hurricanes, opportunity, and the constant balance between nature and progress.

That is not failure. That is transition.

Today, it is easy to look around and see only the finished product–a beautiful, thriving coastal city. But when you understand what came before, something shifts.

You realize this place was not just developed. It was built, rebuilt, and reimagined across generations.

The early workers of Caxambas. The families who adapted and moved to Goodland. The Old Marco settlers who helped establish a permanent community. The visionaries who later saw what the island could become.

Each played a role in the Marco Island we experience today.

And the same forces that shaped those earlier chapters are still here–water, weather, and economics. The difference is that today, we manage them with more tools, more planning, and more foresight.

But we are still part of the same story.

If you walk Marco Island today, you will not see Caxambas in any obvious way. But it is there–in the foundation, in the culture of the surrounding communities, and in the simple idea that people came here to work, to build, and to make something real.

Marco Island did not start in the 1960s. It started earlier–with people who saw opportunity in the water, built a life around it, adapted when the world changed, and passed that possibility forward.

And that is something worth being proud of.

Acknowledgment: This column was inspired in part by local research and conversations shared by Randy Egan and Greg Folley. Additional historical refinements regarding the Collier timeline, the Doxsee operation, and the relocation of Caxambas residents are credited to review comments provided by local historian Craig Woodward.