As an East Village "pretty boy", I was definitely a frequent visitor during the 80. Stay out all night long, find our way to the LIRR to Sayville, find a way to get to the ferry, and "come to" at the sight of the clubs and people as the boat docked at the Pines.
I felt different from the kaftan wearing men of the Pines and did not really understand much of what was going on, but I loved the beach, and walking the wood slatted walkways, making my way through the Meat Rack, and finding a much livelier and more relevant crowd of men and women in Cherry Grove.
People around me were dying. The East Village was one of the epicenters of AIDS, but we struggled to create a community of mutual care and assistance during a time of crisis.
The whole Fire Island thing was fun (for a day trip), but it seemed like a place totally unto itself, having no relevance to the lives of younger, activist types like myself and my friends.