Alice Thorpe

Educator, Naturalist and Fire Island Pines Pioneer

Alice Thorpe was more than an early settler of Fire Island Pines, she was one of its founding spirits. A fierce champion of nature, outspoken in her pursuit of justice, and a pioneer in environmental protection, Alice helped shape the Pines into the vibrant, inclusive, and eco-conscious community it is today. Her legacy is woven into its very dunes and pine trees and reflected in the freedoms we now take for granted.

Alice and her husband, John Thorpe, were among the very first to call the Pines home. In the 1930s, long before boardwalks, electricity, regular ferry service and real estate listings, they arrived in the Pines for the first time and joined a group of friends from what was known as the Green Mountain Club. They lived communally on weekends, camping out and sleeping in tents.

Some of the Green Mountain Club were nudists (or naturalists, as Alice preferred) and introduced Alice to that lifestyle. Together, they enjoyed the tranquil, natural, unspoiled surroundings of the beach and its environs.

After years of living in tents, a few women from the group went over to the bay side of Fire Island and fetched debris from the 1938 hurricane to build lean-tos and huts.

They embraced a life of simplicity and joy—nude, sun-kissed, free. Their makeshift cabins, affectionately named “Slap Happy” and “The Black Hole of Calcutta,” weren’t just shelters—they were symbols of a bohemian dream, alive with laughter, music, and community.

A dedicated English teacher at George Washington High School in Manhattan, Alice brought her intellect and values to everything she touched. She was sharp-witted, fiercely independent, and utterly devoted to the natural world. Summers on Fire Island were her favorite time. Whether strolling on the beach or skinny-dipping in the ocean, Alice moved through nature not as an observer, but as a part of it. She gardened with reverence for native species, always carrying a screwdriver to salvage hardware from washed-up debris. Nothing was wasted. Everything was sacred. At the end of each season she and her group would bury their belongings in barrels and return to claim them at the start of the next.

In 1947, John, an Army veteran and Con Edison engineer, secured surplus Army housing units. He, along with Alice and their family, hauled them across the bay by barge and then by draft horses across the dunes. Together, they built one of what was essentially the Pines’ first permanent homes with their own hands. Alice learned to paint, shingle, varnish, and plant—all while raising nieces and nephews and looking after friends’ children. In so doing, they didn’t just build a house; they put down roots and built a future.

In 1952 the Home Guardian Company, which had purchased the land in the 1941s, renamed the community Fire Island Pines and began selling off lots for development into a new beach community. Undeterred, Alice and John bought property their house was sitting on (they had technically been squatting before) and became key figures in the new community.

This home, in the newly christened Pines, was on a high dune on what is now known as Ocean Walk, between Shell and Sunburst Walks, and remains in the family today.

The Thorpes and their family bought several lots, creating a compound that included houses for John and Alice, and her brother Carl and his wife, Mabel. They also dedicated space to preservation, which allowed them to retain a semblance of the privacy and solitude they had previously enjoyed.

It was in the Pines that Alice earned her reputation as a fierce defender of the environment and human rights. She frequently clashed with developers Warren and Arthur Smadbeck, owners of the Home Guardian Company. Alongside John, Carl, and Mabel, she protested their aggressive development efforts, including the bulldozing of dunes, the cutting of trees, and the dredging of the harbor.

As the community began to take root, Warren Smadbeck’s son-in-law, Ted Taussig, and his wife Doris were tasked with selling lots to family and friends.

Around this time, the Pines had begun attracting members of the gay community who were seeking an alternative to Cherry Grove. Alarmed by this growing presence and fearing it would depress property values, a homophobic group of homeowners badgered Taussig and the Home Guardian Company into launching a campaign to purge the area of what was referred to as “this cancer.”

Alice and John opposed this move fiercely, challenging their efforts at every turn. From the start, they insisted that the Pines remain a place where all people, regardless of race, gender, or sexual orientation, could belong.

Pre-Stonewall, a stand like theirs required courage. The world was a very hostile place to gay people, and those that supported them were suspect. But Alice and John were undeterred. As she noted, there were a number of gay people in the community who were as just as much friends to her as the straight ones were and discrimination was just plain wrong.

Alice and John fought bigotry not just with words, but with action. They served for years on the FIPPOA board and vocally opposed discrimination of any kind. Behind the scenes, Alice was supportive of a friend (who she referred to as an “angel”) who was helping gay men acquire property. 

Alice’s defining moment came at a pivotal community meeting. As tensions rose and voices clashed, she stood and delivered a passionate speech so powerful it is still remembered as a turning point in the fight for LGBTQ+ inclusion. These early efforts helped open doors to changes that would shape the very culture of the Pines for generations.

While she may have been successful in thwarting efforts to chase the gays out of the Pines, she was less successful on the environmental front.  At least initially.  The Pines Harbor was dredged; trees were cut down and homes and boardwalks were constructed. Before her eyes, the place she loved was “torn apart” in the name of development. Terrified it would become like other parts of the East Coast she bought parcels of land not to build, but to save.

In the early 60s a great opportunity came when President Lyndon B. Johnson considered designating Fire Island a national seashore. Alice seized it.  She personally guided Johnson’s representative through the Pines, and spent an entire day making sure he understood what would be lost if developers had their way.

Thanks in part to her efforts, Fire Island was declared a National Seashore in 1964. This was a game-changing moment. The designation halted expansion and froze Fire Island’s footprint. No further development was permitted, meaning existing communities could not grow, and undeveloped tracts, like the land between the Pines and Water Island, as well as the beloved “Meat Rack” between the Pines and Cherry Grove, were preserved. It was a major victory for Alice and others who had the foresight and courage to stand up to powerful developers in defense of the environment. Their efforts shaped not only the future of the Pines, but of Fire Island as a whole.

One of her proudest accomplishments in the Pines was saving a native cranberry bog, now known as Smokey Hollow. In 1956, a dedication ceremony honored her efforts by naming Alice its official guardian. A commemorative bronze plaque was installed to mark the occasion, remaining in place until the 1970s.

Alice and John were able to convince Warren Smadbeck to donate the land to the Fire Island National Seashore and delegate care to the FIPPOA.

For more than eight decades Alice spent some time in the Pines every summer, continuing to visit long after John passed.

She passed her love for the place down through her family, infusing the next generations with the same sense of wonder, stewardship, and justice. Not surprisingly her descendants continue to spend time at her house every summer. Alice died in 2006 at the age of 104. Her ashes were scattered in the Pines—a final act of belonging in the place she cherished most.

Alice Thorpe embodied the values the Pines holds dear: freedom, tolerance, respect, and responsibility. She didn’t just believe in those ideals—she lived them, fought for them, and helped make them real. And time proved her right. Far from depressing property values, the now predominantly gay Pines commands a premium over nearly every other Fire Island community and has become a leader in environmental protection and preservation. Moreover, it remains a place where everyone, regardless of race, gender, national origin or sexual orientation, is welcome and can be their authentic selves, clothed or unclothed. This is Alice’s enduring legacy in the place she called home.