Fifty years ago they were college students, carrying bullhorns. Now they are tribal elders, carrying canes.

This time they brought their children and grandchildren.

On Wednesday, Native Americans once again set foot on Alcatraz, where they declared that paying tribute to history is a noble thing, but that the work of righting wrongs just keeps going.

“It’s not over,” said Kris Longoria, who, as an 8-year-old girl, lived in a jail cell on the island with her mom during the American Indian takeover of the island. “The struggle is never over. We’re still fighting the same fights.”

Wednesday marked 50 years since the beginning of the 19-month occupation of Alcatraz, a landmark struggle that energized the Native American rights movement and brought together tribes from across the United States onto a 22-acre rock in the middle of San Francisco Bay.

“It was cold and miserable out here much of the time,” recalled Eloy Martinez, 80, who also goes by Seeker of Justice. “There was no water. But we were used to that, living on the reservation. That’s the way it still is.

“It was also an exciting time. Our adrenaline was running. For the first time, a lot of us felt free, felt together. You know how it is when you’re waiting for Christmas? It felt like that,” he said.

During the day of festivities, they sang songs, blew flutes, tapped drums, wore traditional clothing, told stories and repainted 50-year-old graffiti. The prison-era sign above the loading dock that declared the island to be “United States Property” was altered, once again, to read “United Indian Property.”

Park ranger John Cantwell said the graffiti were “historic artifacts” — unlike what federal authorities were calling them in 1969. For the celebration on Wednesday, the feds supplied the paint.

“The park service is here to tell our nation’s stories in all their complexity,” ranger Charles Strickfaden said.

Nothing is more complex than the tale of Alcatraz, no longer a prison or Indian occupation site but a $40-a-head tourist draw where 1 million visitors a year lock themselves into cells, snap selfies, wander about with audio tour headphones in their ears and then do what inmates could only dream of — stroll back down to the loading dock and get onto a boat.

The park service is telling the story of the Native American occupation with a new exhibit of photographs and artifacts inside the old Model Industries Building, downhill from the cell house.

It’s called “Red Power on Alcatraz” and it will be open for 19 months, to mirror the length of the occupation. There’s a yellow-and-red teepee, illustrated signs and painted re-creations of some of the island’s decorations during the occupation, including a sign that said “Bureau of Caucasian Affairs.”

Alcatraz events A series of speakers will share their occupation experiences from 9:30 a.m. to 4 p.m. on Thursday. The new exhibit, “Red Power on Alcatraz: Perspectives 50 Years Later,” will be highlighted from 9:30 a.m. to 4 p.m. Saturday with open houses with exhibitors. It will run for 19 months. For information: www.nps.gov/goga/red-power-on-alcatraz

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Shirley Guevara of Fresno gazed at the photographs and recalled her months on the island. She came over on a speedboat “from the place where all the fancy restaurants are” — Fisherman’s Wharf — and she wound up staying put for the duration.

“Exciting, tough, challenging,” she said. “It was all of the above. It was wonderful to see people from all the other tribes. And it was the first time I ever saw the ocean. That was scary.”

Linda Aranaydo, 71, a Muscogee Creek, Okla., native, taught day school while she lived on the island and said the best part of the occupation was “having a chance to be with other Indian people and making connections.”

Half a century ago, the idea behind the occupation was to boost the fledgling Native American rights movement by calling attention to a little-known federal regulation that said surplus government property— such as an empty island with an abandoned federal prison on it — could revert to Indian ownership.

Far from being an overrun bucket-list checkoff site, Alcatraz in the late 1960s was a deserted, decaying shell. The prison, once home to such bad guys as Al Capone and George “Machine Gun” Kelly, had been shut down in 1963.

The occupation began in the dead of night on Nov. 20, 1969. A small flotilla of boats managed to deposit 89 American Indians on the island. Led by activists Richard Oakes, John Trudell and LaNada Means, they quickly took over the warden’s house and soon painted “Home of Free Indian Land” on the landmark water tower.

The lone caretaker radioed to the mainland.

“Mayday! Mayday!” came his call, “The Indians have landed!”

Soon the occupiers were broadcasting a program on public radio stations and publishing a newsletter. Supporters ferried supplies by canoe and motorboat to the island, dodging Coast Guard patrols.

Movie stars and celebrities dropped by to show support. Marlon Brando came. So did Jane Fonda, Anthony Quinn and Jonathan Winters. The rock band Creedence Clearwater Revival donated funds to buy a supply boat, dubbed the Clearwater.

At the height of the occupation, hundreds of Native Americans and supporters bunked down on the island — many on the top floor of the cell house, where their job was to keep a weather eye out for boats full of police or Marines or marshals or anyone else seeking to shut them down and spirit them away.

But federal authorities, wary of how a forced eviction would look, mostly kept their distance. Occasional negotiations between the authorities and the occupiers went nowhere. The Indians offered to buy the island for $24 worth of beads and trinkets — the same sum that the Dutch were said to have paid Native Americans for Manhattan Island. The feds declined.

By the spring of 1971, the fervor dwindled. The same factors that made Alcatraz too pricey to keep going as a prison — lack of fresh water and the difficulty and expense of commuting and ferrying supplies by boat — took its toll on the occupiers.

The government cut off electricity and phone service. A fire of unknown origin broke out. Public support waned. On June 11, 1971, federal marshals removed the last 15 occupiers.

Two years later, the daily tour boats began running. Today, 11 daily sailings take tourists to the island. Hot dogs go for $5. The island’s equal-opportunity gift shops pay tribute to the convicted felons of the prison era and to the Native Americans of the occupation. Replica keys to open cell doors are $12. Postcards depicting the occupation are 81 cents.

On Wednesday, few occupiers could believe the difference that 50 years make. Park rangers in shiny badges welcomed them fondly. In 1969, other federal employees wearing shiny badges hadn’t.

Aurora Mamea, a Blackfoot Indian and a program manager at the Native American Health Center in San Francisco, said for her, the 50th anniversary was something of a return visit.

Mamea, 48, said her mother, the Native America activist Olivia Bearchild, carried her in utero while she participated in the occupation in 1971.

“It’s important to go back there and to remember,” Mamea said. “We need to raise awareness. We need to keep reminding the world of all the treaties that were broken and all the promises that weren’t kept.”

Steve Rubenstein is a San Francisco Chronicle staff writer. Email: srubenstein@sfchronicle.com Twitter: @SteveRubeSF