Esther Chung Obituary, Death: Final Victim in June 12 San Antonio Flash Flood Tragedy Identified as 77-Year-Old Woman; List of 13 Confirmed Fatalities Marks Devastating Conclusion to City’s Deadliest Flood in Over a Decade

In a solemn and emotionally charged conclusion to one of San Antonio’s deadliest natural disasters in recent memory, the Bexar County Medical Examiner’s Office has formally identified the 13th and final victim of the catastrophic flash flood that tore through the city on June 12. The last confirmed fatality is 77-year-old Esther Chung, whose body was located in the Perrin Beitel area—ground zero for much of the destruction. Her identification, coming nearly three weeks after the event, marks the end of an exhaustive, multi-agency recovery mission that has left a community grappling with loss, resilience, and reflection.

The announcement also finalizes the complete list of those who perished in the floods, each name a story ended abruptly by the unforgiving surge of nature’s force. The victims included Carlos Valdez III, 67; Martha De La Torre Rangel, 55; Victor Manuel Macias Castro, 28; Matthew Angel Tufono, 51; Christine Gonzales, 29; Rudy Garza, 61; Josue Pinadelatorre, 28; Andrew Sanchez, 60; Brett Riley, 63; Stevie Richards, 42; Roseann Cobb, 41; and Derwin Anderson, whose search and recovery extended for days before he was found in Leon Creek. These 13 lives, spread across different corners of the city, were united by a single, devastating event—a flash flood that struck swiftly, silently, and fatally.

The chaos began before dawn. At approximately 5 a.m. on June 12, the city of San Antonio was lashed by slow-moving storm systems, which dumped torrents of rain on already saturated ground. According to official weather data, 6.12 inches of rain fell on that single day at San Antonio International Airport, making it the wettest day in 12 years for the city. But it wasn’t just the rainfall totals that shocked the region; it was the sheer speed and volume of water that turned creeks into rivers, roads into currents, and intersections into traps.

Esther Chung, like many of the other victims, was swept away by the fast-rising waters in an area of San Antonio known for its vulnerability during heavy rains. Perrin Beitel, a corridor lined with residential and commercial properties, became the epicenter of the emergency response. Ten of the 13 victims were found in or around this zone—a grim testament to how quickly routine urban environments can become fatal under the right storm conditions. Chung’s body was discovered in the final days of the search operation, bringing painful closure to a long and complex process of identification, rescue, and recovery.

The efforts to locate Chung and the other victims were nothing short of heroic. The San Antonio Fire Department (SAFD), San Antonio Police Department (SAPD), and Texas A&M Task Force 1 coordinated their expertise and manpower, navigating through treacherous terrain, unstable flood zones, and submerged vehicles to retrieve both the living and the lost. Texas A&M Task Force 1, a federal-level disaster response team, brought in specialized equipment and search-and-rescue protocols honed in previous national emergencies. Their presence underscored the scale of the catastrophe and the seriousness with which local and state agencies responded.

Each recovered vehicle told a story. Some were found overturned in creek beds. Others were lodged in wooded embankments or wedged beneath bridges. The vehicles—at least 15 in total—were mostly discovered along Salado Creek, which breached its banks with ferocious speed. Many of the victims had no chance to escape. They were, as later accounts revealed, sitting in traffic, possibly trying to navigate around a stalled vehicle when the sudden torrent surged around them. The situation offered little to no warning. Streets that were merely wet one minute were impassable rivers the next.

The two victims located outside of Perrin Beitel added another layer to the tragic geography. Roseann Cobb, 41, was found several miles upstream near Wurzbach Parkway, a major thoroughfare that became increasingly vulnerable as water levels rose. Derwin Anderson was caught near U.S. Highway 90 and Callaghan Road, and his body was recovered days later in the Leon Creek area. These locations—though distant from each other—illustrated the widespread reach of the storm’s wrath. No part of the city was truly safe that morning, and for many, help arrived too late.

As the identities of the deceased were gradually confirmed, the community entered a period of collective mourning. The names that emerged were more than entries on a list; they represented lives embedded in the fabric of San Antonio. Some were long-time residents, others younger individuals with decades ahead of them. The wide age range—from 28-year-olds like Victor Manuel Macias Castro and Josue Pinadelatorre to seniors like Brett Riley and Esther Chung—highlighted the indiscriminate nature of the flood. It spared no demographic, no neighborhood, and no street corner.

In the aftermath, city officials and emergency responders emphasized the importance of public education around flash flood dangers. The speed at which water can accumulate—especially in low-lying or poorly drained areas—can leave even experienced drivers with nowhere to go. “Turn Around, Don’t Drown,” a long-standing public safety slogan, was echoed in press conferences and news briefings, but the events of June 12 demonstrated that even awareness campaigns can fall short when natural forces move faster than communication channels.

Yet the questions extended beyond public awareness. The tragedy reignited conversations about urban infrastructure, drainage systems, and emergency response coordination. Was the city’s stormwater system equipped to handle such volumes? Were warnings communicated quickly enough? Could roads have been closed sooner? These are questions not easily answered in the fog of grief, but they linger in public discourse—awaiting policy changes, funding debates, and engineering assessments that often follow disaster.

Equally important is the psychological toll borne by the first responders. Members of SAFD and SAPD were tasked not only with technical operations but with the emotional labor of notifying families, recovering bodies, and witnessing firsthand the heartbreak left behind. These professionals carried out their duties under immense pressure, balancing efficiency with compassion, all while confronting the devastating reality of how fragile human life becomes when the environment turns hostile.

For survivors and families of the deceased, the road to healing will be long. Some have called for citywide memorials, while others prefer private mourning. What unites all of them, however, is the magnitude of the loss. A seemingly ordinary Thursday morning was transformed into a historical marker of sorrow. Flags were lowered, vigils held, and communities came together in churches, mosques, and living rooms to grieve. The flood, while now a past event, has left permanent imprints on the lives it touched.

The identification of Esther Chung as the final victim adds a name to a narrative that no city wants to tell but must remember. Her recovery closes the chapter on rescue and opens another—one of remembrance, policy reckoning, and communal reflection. At 77 years old, Chung’s life ended not in illness or accident but in a public tragedy that has become a symbol of both vulnerability and unity.

For meteorologists and emergency managers, the storm will be studied for its unusual characteristics—its timing, its intensity, and its impact. For historians, the event will join the ranks of other landmark floods that shaped San Antonio’s infrastructure, just as the 1921 flood prompted the construction of the San Antonio River Walk flood control system. Whether June 12 will spark similar civic developments remains to be seen, but its legacy is already secure.

The finality brought by Chung’s identification provides some measure of closure, yet it also compels deeper questions. How does a city balance rapid growth with sustainable infrastructure? How do officials plan for weather events that now occur with increasing frequency due to climate shifts? And how can systems be designed not just to mitigate disaster, but to protect lives first and foremost?

There are no easy answers. But what remains undeniable is the human cost—13 names, 13 families, 13 absences that will ripple through birthdays, holidays, and ordinary days for years to come. In the flood’s wake, there is grief. But also resolve. San Antonio must now carry the memory of this tragedy into its policies, its preparedness, and its promise to do better—so that no future list of victims includes another name like Esther Chung.