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EAST TROY, Wis. – They came with Garcia-esque beards. Tie-dyed T-shirts. Tattoos. 

Droves of Deadheads descended on this tiny town Friday to see their beloved band perform a two-day weekend concert, the Grateful Dead’s first major reunion since lead singer Jerry Garcia died in 1995. 

“It will be missing something. But at the same time, it’s a celebration,” said Jeannette Farrell, 27, a hairstylist from Baltimore who drove all night to East Troy. She wore a camouflage headband and bellbottoms, and had pierced gums and a six-armed fairy tattooed across her chest. 

The concert Saturday and Sunday at Alpine Valley Amphitheater is billed as “Terrapin Station — a Grateful Dead Family Reunion.” 

The Dead built a famously loyal following on the road; many fans followed them from town to town before Garcia’s death of a heart attack put an end to the touring. 

The Wisconsin concert marks the first time that original band members Mickey Hart, Bill Kreutzmann, Phil Lesh and Bob Weir have joined forces for a major concert since then. 

For a while it looked like it wouldn’t happen. 

Walworth County denied a permit for the concert in June, fearing that authorities couldn’t handle the estimated 200,000 people it might draw to a venue that can hold about 35,000. The county relented only after the promoter, Clear Channel Entertainment, submitted a new plan with tighter security and emergency procedures, and promised to reimburse some expenses. 

The band sold out all 35,000 seats each day at about $60 a ticket. 

Grateful Dead band members issued newspaper appeals warning fans that anyone without a ticket would be turned away, and that camping would be allowed only at authorized campgrounds. Organizers said they would turn back cars in which even one passenger didn’t have a ticket. 

That didn’t stop Ray Zavitz, 51, of Ontario, Canada, who drove 16 hours in his Volkswagen bus spray-painted with Grateful Dead trademark skeletons and Garcia’s profile. 

Zavitz, whose beard reaches halfway down his chest, cut a strange sight Friday in East Troy’s quaint, brick-and-mortar village square, wearing shorts, shades and a black T-shirt emblazoned with “Dear Jerry: You know our love will not fade away. All of us.” 

He said he wasn’t worried about not having a ticket. 

“If I get down there with this,” he said, gesturing to the van, which he outfitted with a sink and portable toilet, “I’ll get a ticket somehow.” 

Merchants in the town of 2,600 opened up sidewalk stands. 

“We figured they want to eat,” said Norm Tacke, who was selling hot dogs, salsa, chips and his own fruit concoction called Jerry Juice. 

Deadheads parked campers in the square and staked out shady spots. Many found their way to the Hoppe Homestead Campground, about 12 miles east of town, where they played guitar, drank beer or played hackey sack. An ice cream truck bounced between rows of tents, its music drifting out over the cornfields. 

Campground officials expected about 12,000 fans in their 200 spots by Saturday. 

“It’s the atmosphere” that drew him, said Hog Wertz, of Athens, Ohio, as he set up his tent, a Garcia T-shirt tied around his waist and the album “Terrapin Station” blasting from his boom box. 

His friends Nikki Morris and Don Cribbet brought their 5-year-old daughter, Ruby Sunshine, from Athens for the concert. 

“The Dead wrote the book,” said Morris, 30, an Internet database developer. 

Not everyone was expecting a lovefest. 

Cindy Gilbertson, who lives next door to Alpine Valley, said she spent more than $1,000 to build a fence around her property and install a gated screen door before the concert. She expects traffic to be so bad she won’t leave the house all weekend. 

“It’s one of those things where you’re a hostage in your own home,” she said. 

Sheriff Dave Graves said extra deputies will work throughout the weekend. 

Gilbertson’s neighbor, John MacKenzie, said a sheriff’s deputy visited him and warned that deputies might be too busy with the concert to help residents over the weekend. MacKenzie said he just laughed. 

“His point was the people were going to come in here and rape and pillage everything. Maybe I’ll be eating my words Monday, but it’s just overkill. Criminy.” 

MacKenzie’s 13-year-old son, Sean, was looking forward to the free entertainment. 

“I’m just going to sit out by the telephone pole with an umbrella and just watch everybody,” he said.