July 7, 2025 • 41 mins
How do you find your purpose in life? To find the answer, Patrick tells the story about the first time he faced off against The Establishment…and how it would eventually open his eyes to his true calling.
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Episode Transcript
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Speaker 1 (00:03):
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Red Pilled America dot Com Now on with the show.
Speaker 1 (00:31):
This episode was originally broadcast on December eighth, twenty twenty three.
As we grow up and come of age, we constantly
hear about pursuing our dreams. We hear it in our
movies and TV shows. We're the greatest single human gift,
the ability to chase down our dreams. We hear about
(00:53):
it in our school lessons. I have a dream, and
the most successful people in America encourage us to find
our purpose in life and pursue it.
Speaker 3 (01:02):
I'll say chase man, because anything else it's gonna disappoint you.
You're gonna forever be sad man. If you don't chase
that dream, you're gonna forever be miserable. Man.
Speaker 1 (01:13):
If America is anything, it's a place for dreamers. But
how do you know you've found it? How do you
recognize your purpose in life? I'm Patrick Carelchi and.
Speaker 2 (01:26):
I'm Adriana Cortes, and this.
Speaker 1 (01:28):
Is Red Pilled America, a storytelling show.
Speaker 4 (01:32):
This is not.
Speaker 2 (01:32):
Another talk show covering the day's news. We're all about
telling stories.
Speaker 4 (01:37):
Stories.
Speaker 1 (01:38):
Hollywood doesn't want you to hear stories.
Speaker 2 (01:40):
The media mocks stories about everyday Americans that the globalist ignore.
Speaker 1 (01:46):
You can think of Red Pilled America as audio documentaries,
and we promise only one thing, the truth. Welcome to
Red Pilled America.
Speaker 2 (02:06):
How do you recognize your purpose in life? To find
the answer, Patrick is going to tell a story about
the first time he faced off against the establishment and
how it would eventually open his eyes to its true calling.
Speaker 1 (02:20):
I guess the first sign that I was in over
my head was when I looked out the window and
saw my best friend being escorted into an awaiting cop car.
He was handcuffed as the officer guided him into the
backseat of the vehicle. The first thing that popped into
my mind was, oh, there wasn't much left for interpretation.
(02:45):
We were in trouble, big trouble. It was June nineteen
eighty eight, a bright, sunny, southern California day, and I
should have been on cloud nine. It was the morning
of my high school graduation day. At the time, I
really had no clue what I wanted to do with
my life. I mean, I knew I was going to college.
Maybe I'd even become a professor, perhaps an entrepreneur. It
(03:06):
was all up in the air. But one thing was certain.
Whatever I was going to do, high school graduation was
an unavoidable hurdle. I spent my high school years in
a place called North Torrance, California, a suburb about twenty
miles south of Los Angeles, and by my senior year,
the area was going through a bit of a cultural
shift that was decades in the making. When my mom
(03:29):
was born in Torrance in the late nineteen forties, the
area was still largely an agricultural community filled with cow
pastures and farm land. The town was predominantly white, with
some pockets of Japanese American farm workers. By all measures,
it was a rural American haven, a family oriented, SoCal
enclave blessed with beautiful weather, low crime, quick access to
(03:52):
the beach and snow filled mountains, and just a hop,
skip and a jump from Tinseltown, where the magic of
movie making was in full swing.
Speaker 4 (04:03):
Now.
Speaker 1 (04:03):
I was born in Torrance in nineteen seventy, lived in
the city for about five years, then moved one town
over to Carson, and that one town shift made a
world of difference. My mom, dad's sister, brother, and I
would eventually become literally the only non black family in
our Carson enclave. When my mom and dad separated, she
wanted to move back to her roots, which would be
(04:24):
a safer environment for all of us. So in nineteen
eighty four, just as the Olympics were kicking off in La,
my mom, brother, sister, and I made them move back
to North Torrance, just in time for me to enter
as a freshman in high school. Returning to my place
(04:45):
of birth was a massive improvement, but the city was
quietly going through some changes. Many of the towns just
to the north of us were suffering from urban decay,
bad social policies, a flood of low wage workers from
south of the border, crack spreading on the streets, and
manufacturing jobs being sent overseas were just a few of
the developments that began to create a violent response in
(05:07):
neighboring cities like Lowndale, Inglewood, Guardina and Compton, and some
of their problems began bleeding into our quaint little North
Torrance community. Case in point was the famed Rhodium Drive
in theater it sat right at the border of Torrents
and Guardina. As a young boy, the Rhodium was a
(05:28):
family friendly drive in theater. Ten years later and it
dropped the drive in film business to become an open
air swap meet and would eventually become the birthplace of
pioneering gangster rap group and WA. This is all to
say that by the mid nineteen eighties, North Torrance had
some rough neighbors whose problems were beginning to creep into
our neck of the woods, but it was still holding
(05:49):
on to some of its small suburban charm, including an
affinity for teenage right of passage rituals. When my mom
went to North Torrens High School in the nineteen sixties,
one of these rituals became a phenomenon in the area,
and the wee hours of the night would somehow steal
one of those large old school Bob's Big Boy fiberglass
figures from a local restaurant, drive it down a busy
(06:12):
thoroughfare without being detected by the fuzz, and then would
pop it somewhere on the high school campus, usually on
the quad, but some would even hoist it onto the
school roof. Instances of this prank were reported at multiple
high schools and torrents. By the time I went to
North High some twenty years later, school administrations and the
cops had cracked down on these Bob's Big Boy kidnappings,
(06:36):
but that spirit of poking the establishment continued in a
different form. The senior pranks shifted towards what's known today
as hazing rituals, kind of like the ones in the
movie Dazed and Confused, you know, where seniors spanked in
coming freshmen with paddles. Hi, crimer, what's.
Speaker 3 (06:52):
So, let's go baby away out and come.
Speaker 4 (06:56):
Right a mint?
Speaker 1 (06:58):
Could you do the rest of us favorly to the
gate and right field, man, I'll draw them all out
of here. I mean they're going to get you anyway.
In our case, we weren't nearly as physically violent. A
sprinkling of seniors would drive around throwing water balloons at
newly christened freshmen, but as those seniors neared graduation, the
hazing was stepped up a notch. Every year, on the
(07:21):
day before graduation, the cool, outgoing seniors would buy hundreds
upon hundreds of eggs from the local supermarket, then drive
around town looking to pick off outgoing and incoming freshmen.
Some went to guns Or Park, where the graduating class
of Cashmir Middle School held an annual event like clockwork.
As their event was underway, seniors would heave eggs into
(07:43):
the crowd of eighth graders. Stories of webbos raining from
the sky became part of local lore. Everyone knew it
was coming, including the middle school staff, but it was
all done good fun. I'm sure the adults figured students
could have been doing much worse, like the drive by
shootings littering the la times. Ultimately, these hazing rituals were
(08:04):
away to lightly teach the young'uns that there was a
cruel world out there be prepared. But these rituals also
served as second purpose. They were a big middle finger
to the school establishment. In the same spirit as Pink Floyd.
We were sending them a message, you don't control us.
(08:26):
Now I didn't go to middle school in Torrance, so
I avoided the egg raid. But since I'd played Little
League baseball in the area, I'd heard all about the
hazing and knew that during those first days of high
school I would no doubt be dodging a few water balloons.
Like most freshmen, I was one of the unlucky ones
that had to either walk or in my case, ride
a bike home from school. We were sitting ducks, completely
(08:49):
vulnerable to the car bound seniors on their safari hunts.
I was hit by a water balloon or two and
took it like a man until the spring of my
sophomore year, when I got my driver's license and my
first car, a light blue dots in B two ten.
It perpetually leaked oil, so my friends and I affectionately
named it the Blue Ghost because we had no idea
(09:09):
how it was still running. Nevertheless, that car meant I
was no longer amongst the pedestrian masses that the seniors
used for target practice. By the summer before my junior year,
my fortunes had shifted. I went from victim to a presser.
My entry into these humiliation rituals started off innocently by
teepeeing houses. You know, that age old prank of going
(09:32):
to someone's house, usually a friend, and blanketing their front lawn, bushes,
and trees with toilet paper. Unlike many of today's entitled kids,
we all had grinding, minimum wage jobs, so when someone
became the target of a teepeeing raid, we'd all pull
our money together to buy dozens of rolls of paper
and shaving cream. The shaving cream was to write a
(09:52):
message on the lawn. Then we'd all pile into a
few cars and carpet bomb someone's front yard. We made
it into an art form, being sure to go out
on damp nights, making the toilet paper nearly impossible to
easily remove. If remnants of our raid didn't stand for
at least a few weeks, it would be counted as
a failure. But there were never any hard feelings. The
(10:16):
only people that felt bad were those that didn't grab
our attention enough to deserve being teepeed. However, like what
often happens with high school pranks, things tend to escalate
until they get out of hand, and as our senior
year kicked off, an escalation would foretell trouble to come
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(10:56):
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(12:00):
Welcome back to red pilled America. In the nineteen eighties,
my North Torrents area unofficially held what you could call
the Hazing Games, where seniors went on the hunt for freshmen,
pegging them with water balloons or eggs. But when we
got our driver's licenses, my high school buddies and I
transitioned from victim to a presser. We started off with teepeeing,
(12:20):
but as my senior year kicked off, we entered the
upper crust of the hazing class where the water balloon
prank reigned. Now where our forefathers loved this ritual, we
weren't exactly impressed. Water balloons were messy. It was difficult
to get a stockpile together, and once you did, they
were hard to handle. They'd often pop in the car
(12:41):
while on the hunt, which would eventually cause a fight
between whoever was driving and the person that wet the
inside of his car. Nevertheless, water was an effective hazing medium.
When a victim was properly soaked, it was absolutely humiliating.
Water was perfect. We just needed a better delivery system.
So one day, while I was with my mom at
(13:01):
her job at the telephone company. I found the answer
a fire extinguisher. While Mom wasn't looking, I snuck the
extinguisher out the back door and put it in the
cab of Mom's Toyota SR five long bed pickup truck.
I got the extinguisher home and secretly filled.
Speaker 4 (13:19):
It with water.
Speaker 1 (13:20):
Then I took it to a local gas station to
pump it with air to give it the required pressure.
Now by this time I'd had a new used car.
It was a navy blue, beat up old nineteen seventies
Plymouth Valare, and it was roomy inside. We called it
the Mayflower because it could fit like eight of us comfortably.
(13:40):
And we were a motley crew. White, Latino, Filipino, Mexican, Hawaiian, Korean,
Japanese in black was the cross section of my crew.
Us nineteen seventies born kids had it all figured out.
Some combination of my buddies, usually Mark, Ricky, Peewee, Close Serrillo, Stanley,
Kuan Shig or Mikey would pile into the Mayflower and
(14:01):
we'd drive around town looking for targets, always males. That's
one of the fringe benefits of women living in a patriarchy.
Most of the time, we'd drive up right beside a
bike bound freshman and nail him smack dab in the face.
They were perfect targets because they couldn't quickly duck. Of course,
they would yell, which sounded like someone trying to talk
(14:22):
under water. Now, we'd typically limit our attacks to freshman
aged guys, but occasionally someone in the car would see
an adult target that was just too good to pass up.
On one of our outings, I thought we were done
with our hunting expedition, and so I started heading back
(14:43):
to my house, where everyone's cars were parked. But as
we started getting close to my pad, my buddy Ricky,
saw a man who lived just one street over from
my house. I didn't recognize the guy, so it was on.
Ricky told me to slow down. Then he pulled the
fire extinguisher hose out of the back window and unloaded
the contents right in the guys just as he was
(15:04):
trying to get into his car. It sounded like he
was being waterboarded. Ricky yelled bone out, and I floored
it down the street. Instead of heading back to my house, though,
I took a detour and left the neighborhood. I didn't
want the guy following me home. Well, when I got
back to my pad, I guess you can say Mom
wasn't very happy with me. Apparently the guy recognized my car.
(15:29):
I guess the Mayflower was making an impression in the neighborhood.
This guy went straight to my house. It just so
happened that on that same day, my mom was throwing
a baby shower, so she had a house full of women.
The guy rang the doorbell, and when Mom opened the door,
she saw a man standing there, dripping wet.
Speaker 4 (15:48):
He was Arab.
Speaker 1 (15:49):
This Arab gentleman began explaining in broken English that her
son and his friends had just sprayed him with water
hose and it got into his car. I'm sure my
mom was pissed, but she wasn't about to sell me
out to some stranger. She told the Arab jo that
her son wasn't there and that she thought he had
the wrong place. That's when he went ballistic. According to
(16:09):
my mom, and she had a living room full of
witnesses to back her up. The man started yelling Talia shon,
Talia shon. The dude was angry, but he chose the
wrong woman to threaten. We'd moved from Carson about two
years earlier, and as the only non blacks in town,
(16:31):
we were under constant attack by our neighbors. We were
practically veterans of street conflict, so this single Arab gentleman
waging a jihat on my family didn't FaZe my mom
one bit.
Speaker 2 (16:42):
You can retaliate all you'd like, sir, but I'm getting
back to my party.
Speaker 1 (16:46):
She closed the door and that was that. He never retaliated,
and in fact, we never saw him again. When I
arrived back at home with all my friends in tow,
Mom gave us all a tongue lashing. She was kind
of the den mother for my crew. For whatever reason.
My house was one of our few defect meeting places,
so Mom had a relationship with all my buddies and
(17:07):
she was beginning to worry about us, and more specifically me.
By my senior year, the single boys in the hood
had become a street anthem in the suburb cities surrounding
the Rhodium, and it shifted the entire tenor of our
high school experience. My crew was into dancing and surfing,
while NWA introduced the thug life to the burbs. Overnight
(17:30):
every local Hoodlam became a gangsta. Although we generally tried
to avoid them, the increased temperature would sometimes pull us
into fights. We were even almost arrested once after beating
up some jocks at our local hangout, Jack in the Box.
After the incident, our school dean Dean Byerley called a
few of us into his office where police were waiting.
(17:53):
But luckily, when the cops investigated, they learned that the
jocks were the instigators and we were all still miners
while they were several years out of high school. But
the effect a fair put us on Dean Byerley's radar. Now,
Dean Byerley's history with my family went way back. My
mom and her five brothers and sisters also went to
North High when Dean Byerley was known as mister Byerley,
(18:16):
a teacher at the school, so he knew Mom for
roughly twenty years, and now he had his eye on
me and my friends. Maybe he thought the popular thug
culture was creeping into his quaint North High community via us.
In hindsight, I could understand his concern. I may have
been a straight A student, but most of my immediate
buddies didn't necessarily place school grades as a priority. I mean,
(18:39):
these were all good, hard working guys. None of them
were criminals, and all of them had jobs. Most of
the time we were just participating in good clean fund.
But alcohol had entered the picture and the shenanigans were
enough to concern my mom. On top of that, my
dad was just starting to spiral out of control. The
beginnings of a drug addiction were taking root, and it
(19:01):
was like a grenade when off within our family. Mom
was worried she wasn't alone. On one occasion, my calculus teacher,
mister Smith, asked me to stay back after class. You
told me he was a bit concerned with the people
I was hanging out with. I mean, I understood is concern,
but my friends were fun. They liked pushing the envelope,
and they felt like brothers, Guys that would die for
(19:23):
me if the opportunity presented itself, and without a father
in the house that meant something. We were all just
trying to get through this strange cultural shift that was
creeping into our neighborhood without letting it change us. I
appreciated what mister Smith was trying to do, but I
wasn't going to leave my homies. So what he said
(19:45):
when in one ear and out the other. In the
remaining months of our senior year, we had avoided major trouble,
and it looked like we were going to coast right
into graduation. A few days before that big day, our
school had a baccalaureate event. I don't know if they
have them anymore, but back then, they were kind of
(20:05):
a pregraduation ceremony that parents and students attended well. As
me and my friends lined up to enter the gymnasium
for the event, my mom took the opportunity Like a
drill sergeant. She walked up and down the line, telling
my friends and I not to make any mistakes over
these last few days.
Speaker 2 (20:23):
Don't screw this up, you guys, You're almost done.
Speaker 1 (20:26):
Behind her walked Dean Byerley, who knew all about the
end of year ritual that was on the horizon the
age old senior egging day. As my mom warned us
to stay out of trouble, Dean Byerley marched behind her
and parrotied her words. Listened to missus carelchi, guys, he
said as he looked at me. I'm watching you now.
It was one thing to hear my mom lecturing us,
(20:47):
But there was something completely different hearing the school dean
lecture us, a guy that understood the egging tradition because
he'd been at North High for at least twenty years.
There was something about a member of the establishment saying
he was watching us that rubbed me the wrong way.
I instinctively wanted to do the opposite of what the
(21:08):
man was telling me to do. The seeds of a
lifelong behavior took root. As the day before graduation arrived.
Speaker 4 (21:18):
We were all hyped. This was the Big.
Speaker 1 (21:21):
Egging Day, an event that many of us seniors had
been anticipating for four years. It was our turn to
carry on this ride of passage, a tradition that had
been going on for as long as anyone, including Dean Byerley,
could remember. I mean, this day was so firmly ingrained
in our community that the local supermarket stacked crates of
their expired eggs right in front of the store. They
(21:43):
didn't even bother refrigerating them. I mean, there were hundreds
upon hundreds of eggs. The Great Egging Raid was practically
a publicly sanctioned event up there with Fourth of July
and Halloween, A big posse of us cut out of
school early that day, twenty one people to be exact.
We headed over to the grocery store each about a
few days and eggs, and then made our way over
(22:05):
to Gunzer Park, the site of the Kashmir Middle School's
annual gathering. But when we arrived, there was no one there.
No eighth graders, no teachers, no school administrators. Nobody could
put not as ilch. There was just a few old
folks walking their dogs and some parents with their toddlers
on playdates. And we weren't about to hag them. The
(22:28):
I thought they canceled the event, yelled my buddy Ricky.
This was unacceptable. Means four long years we'd been waiting,
it was our turn, and someone canceled the festivities to
avoid the raid. It was Dean Bayerley. I said to
the crowd, they aren't getting away with this, blurted out
my buddy close. I mean, they were taking away our
(22:48):
god given right up there with free speech and the
right to bear arms. We weren't about to let this stand.
So we all piled back into our cars and headed
over to Kashmir Middle School. We'd cut out of school early,
so they had to sl in class. As we creeped
past the front of Kashmir, we could see signs of
schools still being in session. Now, we were young, but
(23:11):
we weren't stupid. If we attacked at the front of
the school, where the school administration offices were, we'd be
caught red handed. So we decided to set up our
ambush elsewhere. Now I knew this place well. I used
to have Little League practice there often. Kashmir had a
large playground on the east side of the campus. It's
a huge area black tar, handball, basketball and volleyball courts
(23:33):
transitioned into a huge football slash baseball field from the streets.
There were two points of entry to this field, one
at the northeast corner and one near the southeast corner.
When the last bell rang, the kids that lived east
of the school would all walk through this field Lady
Dadi d'adi Da and bottleneck through these two exits to
get home. It was the perfect choke point. The students
(23:57):
would be sitting ducks. The best part was that this
area was far away from the school's administration buildings. We'd
set up an ambush, picked them off one by one
with eggs as they exited and be completely out of
the prying eyes of the school's staff. On paper, it
was a flawless plan. We drove to the east side
(24:17):
of the school, parked our cars, grabbed our eggs, and
some of us made our way to the southeast exit,
while the rest of us went to the northeast corner.
The girls waited in the car in case we needed
to make a quick getaway. We sat there patiently waiting
for the last bell to ring, and when it did,
we expected in a matter of a minute or two,
(24:40):
students would start crowding through the choke points at the
east side of the school. But one minute turned into two,
then three, and no students were arriving. Something was off,
and we'd soon learn what you see. At the northeast exit,
where me and my car load of friends went, you
could hide behind the houses, so any kids playing in
(25:00):
the field at the end of the school day couldn't
see us. But at the southeast exit there was really
no cover. If they didn't crouch down, they were in
the direct line of everyone on the field. Will Apparently,
some of the eighth graders saw our rebel forces set
up at the southeast exit, and they knew exactly what
was coming. I mean, the off campus event was canceled
(25:20):
that day. They knew a raid was coming, so they
were on high alert. Like anything in middle school, news
of our arrival must have spread like wildfire, because minutes
after the final bell rang, no one was leaving class.
And that's when we made a fatal mistake. At the time, we,
(25:47):
or at least I thought Dean Barley, was trying to
nip this annual rite of passage ritual in the bud,
and we weren't going to allow that to happen. So
we decided to bring the egg raid into Kashmir Middle School.
When no kids arrived at the choke point, we entered
the field and made our way toward the classrooms, and
sure enough we could see the students crowded up near
(26:08):
the doors, peering out. We weren't gonna let them get
away with this coming up through North High We'd all
been nailed a time or two and we took it
like men. Yet here was the next generation avoiding this
hazing ritual, no doubt, with the help of the school administration.
So when we saw the kids taking cover in the classrooms,
we threw caution to the wind and let our eggs fly.
(26:35):
Wavos were pummeling the outside of the classrooms like an
apocalyptic wave of hail. A few students dumb enough to
attempt walking between bungalows made a run for it. As
they dropped their bags trying to lighten the load, eggs
began pelting their backs and legs. As one unlucky guy
ran for cover, my buddy close got within arm's length
(26:55):
and decided to dunk an egg on his head. And
that's when we all remembered the type of eggs we'd
just purchased.
Speaker 4 (27:02):
When we all.
Speaker 1 (27:03):
Stoked up at the local supermarket. The eggs were stacked
at the front of the store, unrefrigerated. They must have
been there all day in the hot summer sun, because
when the eggs smashed, there was a light tint of
green to them. They were rotten, rotten to the core. Well,
when my buddy close smacked the egg on top of
this kid's head, the debris splashed close in the face.
(27:25):
He immediately began to dry heave. He dropped to his knees.
One of our rebel soldiers was hit. As I turned
my head back to the classrooms, eighth graders were shrieking,
half laughing, really as we executed a shock and all
attack on the school. Eggs were smashing against the walls
and windows.
Speaker 4 (27:43):
It was all so beautiful.
Speaker 1 (27:45):
And then something happened. I can remember it clearly. As
I released one of my eggs, I watched it glide
through the air, as if it were traveling in slow motion.
I stood silently as I saw it reach the peak
of its trajectory, then twirl end over end into it
passed right through the doorway, crashing deep within the classroom.
(28:08):
We'd infiltrated their bunker. There was no turning back. As
I looked on, one egg after another began finding their
way through the doors and into the classrooms. When we
finally came to our senses, we turned around and ran
through the field like our lives depended on it. We
slammed through the gate opening, jumped into our cars, and
(28:29):
peeled out down the streets. Getaway vehicles were scattering in
every possible direction. Go go, go go, yelled my buddy
Mark as I booked it down the street. By the
time we left the neighborhood, the car was engulfed in laughter.
War stories were already being exchanged.
Speaker 4 (28:48):
Did you see that kid jumping for.
Speaker 1 (28:49):
Cover, said Mark Man.
Speaker 4 (28:51):
Close was practically throwing up. I added, it was like we'd.
Speaker 1 (28:55):
Just stormed the beaches of Normandy. After we got back
to my house, we all swore each other to secrecy,
but there really wasn't much to worry about. I mean,
this was before surveillance cameras became the norm, so they
could never know for sure it was us, we thought,
And besides, we'd all parked at the east side of
(29:15):
the school, so no one could even see our cars.
And even if a student did recognize one of us,
there wasn't enough time to put two and two together
for there to be any repercussions. Graduation was the next day.
After that, they couldn't touch us. I went to bed
that night thinking we'd pulled one over on the school
(29:37):
administration that tried to end our annual ritual. But little
did we know that someone had made a critical mistake,
and that mistake was about to come back to haunt us.
Speaker 2 (29:53):
Do you want to hear red Pilled America stories ad free?
Then become a backstage subscriber. Just log onto Redpilled America
dot com and click join in the top menu. Join
today and help us save America, one story at a time.
Speaker 1 (30:09):
Welcome back to red pilled America. So the day after
the Great egg Grade, I went to North High like
any other morning. It was going to be a short day,
and later that afternoon we'd all walk up to the
stage to get our diplomas. As I sat in calculus
class and joined my last day as a senior, mister
Smith went around the room asking us about our summer plans.
(30:31):
And that's when what appeared to be a school administrator
walked into the room. She handed mister Smith a note.
He read it and the end of the year cheer
dropped from his face. He looked up, scanned the room,
and her eyes locked.
Speaker 4 (30:48):
Patrick.
Speaker 1 (30:49):
Mister Byerley wants to see you, he said, in a
disappointed tone.
Speaker 4 (30:54):
No, I thought.
Speaker 1 (30:57):
I grabbed my backpack and made the long walk to
the office. When I arrived, Dean Byerley said, a seat son,
I complied. Dean Byerley went on to explain that there
was an egging incident at Kashmere. Hmm. I gave him
a confused look. Apparently a middle school teacher was somehow
(31:17):
able to identify one of the seniors involved in the raid.
We have reason to believe you were involved too, Patrick,
Do you have anything to say for yourself?
Speaker 4 (31:26):
Hmm uh no, nuh.
Speaker 1 (31:29):
I kept a tight lip. I didn't lie, but I
also didn't confess. If he knew I was involved, I'd
already be busted. You sure you have nothing else to say? Son?
Speaker 4 (31:39):
No?
Speaker 1 (31:40):
Uh uh okay, all right, all right, you got me?
Speaker 4 (31:44):
Yes, I was involved.
Speaker 1 (31:45):
That George Washington Cherry Tree in doctrination really stuck.
Speaker 4 (31:49):
Who else was involved?
Speaker 1 (31:50):
He barked, well that I can't say. I may have
been an egger, but I definitely wasn't a rat. He
escorted me to what appeared to be a meeting room
with a big table. My buddy Close was already seated
in the room. He looked up at me, trying to
hold back a smile. Mister Biley closed the door behind him.
Did you say anything, he asked. I admitted to being involved,
(32:12):
but that's it. Close said he admitted it as well,
but didn't name anyone else. And I believed him. He
was the type of guy that would take the fall
for his friends. Close and I began racking our brains
trying to figure out how we'd been fingered. As we talked,
(32:34):
our buddy Mikey walked in, then Ricky, then Stanley, then Cirillo.
One by one, everyone that had went on the egging
raid came strolling into the room. We were obviously in
a pickle, but you couldn't tell by looking at us.
It was a festive environment, like old friends getting.
Speaker 4 (32:56):
Together at a local pub.
Speaker 1 (32:58):
We were taking group pictures, hamming it up. I mean,
it was our last day of school, but with a
suspend us. The energy in the room was electric, that
is until Mom walked in. The entire room went silent.
She glared at me, then scanned the rest of the room.
Speaker 2 (33:18):
Do you guys think this is a joke?
Speaker 1 (33:19):
Growled my mom.
Speaker 2 (33:20):
This is serious.
Speaker 1 (33:22):
We were all scared straight. Then a few moments later
I heard a gasp. A small crowd formed at the
window facing the street. As I made my way through,
I saw my best friend Mark being escorted to an
awaiting cop car.
Speaker 4 (33:38):
It was handcuffed as.
Speaker 1 (33:40):
An officer guided him into the vehicle. The first thing
that popped into my mind was, oh sh There wasn't
much left for interpretation. We were in trouble, big trouble.
By this time, the party energy was completely sucked out
of the room as we sat there in silence, waiting
for our fate. It was probably only a few minutes later,
(34:02):
but it felt like hours. When Dean Byerley finally came
back in the room and asked for me and my
mom to come.
Speaker 4 (34:08):
To his office.
Speaker 1 (34:09):
I sat down in a chair opposite his desk. My
mom chose to remain standing. Gotrick, I regret to inform
you that you won't be participating in our graduation ceremonies today.
My mom began to cry. This was her big moment,
something she'd been working towards for eighteen years, and I
blew it for her. Since elementary school, She'd been on
(34:33):
top of me every day to make sure I'd finished
my homework. During high school, she had drilled into me
that I'd have to finish my homework before I could
have fun with the guys. So as my friends used
my house actually her house, as an after school hangout,
I'd be perched up to the dinner table finishing my homework, just.
Speaker 4 (34:51):
Like she taught me.
Speaker 1 (34:52):
All her hard work resulted in a straight A student,
and that day was supposed to be the big payoff
for her, and now I'd blown it. As my mom cried,
Dean continued, I'm sorry, there's nothing I can do about it.
We don't have time to sort through all of this,
so we have to hold everyone involved accountable. He explained
that he wanted to tell me first because of my
(35:14):
focus on academics, but I think it was mainly out
of respect for my mom, who he'd known as a
student way back in the day. I went home, but
my mom stuck around with other parents trying to make
a last ditch push for us to participate in the ceremony,
but it didn't work. I think it was twenty one
of us in total. We're banned from the graduation ceremony.
Even the girls that waited in the car who didn't
(35:36):
throw a single egg were lumped in with us rebel eggers.
How we got caught was a mystery for a while,
but slowly pieces of the puzzle began to reveal themselves. Apparently,
someone from our crew foolishly drove past the front of
Cashmere after our raid and threw some eggs at the
exiting students, and when they did, a faculty member caught
(35:57):
the license plate of the car. From that one car,
they were able to guess which click at North High
was involved. As our crew got pulled out one by
one into the Dean's office, everyone said that they kept
their mouths shut when they pressed my buddy Mark on
who was involved. He also kept quiet. In fact, he
got a little lippy and mouthed off to Dean Byerley
(36:19):
and the observing police officer. So they decided to spook
us by parading him in front of our window, handcuffed.
It wasn't long after that that someone from our crew
caved and began naming names. To this day, it's a
mystery who sang like a canary. The story of our
(36:40):
expulsion spread like wildfire throughout the school. The local newspaper,
The Daily Breeze, even showed up to the campus to
cover the Great Egging incident. If I remember correctly, I
think one of the reporters called us the drive by Eggers,
effectively mocking the school for expelling us while literally drive
by shootings were happening just a few miles away. By
the time my mom arrived home, I'd never seen so
(37:03):
upset with me. She'd worked so hard to get me
through school, and it was going to be her personal
badge of honor to see me walking on the stage
to receive that diploma, and I had taken that from
her well.
Speaker 4 (37:15):
Not exactly about a week.
Speaker 1 (37:21):
Later, the parents of one of my fellow egging rebels,
my buddy Stanley. His parents hosted a graduation ceremony at
their home for everyone that was banned from the official event.
Reporters even attended that ceremony as well. We each walked
up to receive our faux diplomas. Most apologized to their parents,
a few expressed regrets for their involvement, but some of
(37:44):
us were a bit more defiant, including yours. Truly, I
of course apologized to my mom, but I couldn't help myself.
I said, I didn't regret a thing. If I had
it to do over again, I told my mom I
would have done the same exact thing, and why because
the establishment said we couldn't. We were fighting to keep
(38:05):
our traditions, so we gave the man the one finger salute.
Over the years, the school administration completely cracked down on
the hazing games, not only at North High but all
over America. Right off passage rituals were labeled as bullying.
Maybe some of it was, but perhaps if the establishment
had allowed us to keep our innocent traditions, Maybe, just
(38:29):
maybe there wouldn't be so many men out there trying
to become women, Which leads us back to the question
(38:50):
how do you find your purpose in life? Of all people,
I think game show host Steve Harvey gave a great
answer to this question.
Speaker 3 (39:01):
I say, chase your dreams, man. Do that thing. Man,
it keeps you up at night, that thing that bothers you, Man,
that makes you trip. You can't quit thinking about it.
That's what you got to chase. If you don't chase
that dream, you gonna ever be miserable man.
Speaker 1 (39:15):
For me, I've always loved poking the establishment, and when
the establishment gets something wrong, it keeps me up at
night trying to figure out how to expose it. It
took me years to realize this about myself, but my
reaction to being suspended over the egging raid was perhaps
the first sign that I had something in me that
most did not. When there was massive pressure for us
(39:37):
seniors to express remorse over what we had done, I
didn't regret a thing, and I said as much. Yes,
I temporarily let my mom down, but I eventually made
it up to her. I was the first in our
family to graduate with a bachelor's and master's degree, and
she saw me walk on stage to get both those diplomas.
What I learned about myself from the Egging incident was
(39:58):
that I wasn't afraid to push the envelope, question authority
and have fun doing it. And this is what keeps
me up at night. It is my purpose. Looking back,
I don't blame Dean Byerley for suspending us. He was
doing his job, trying to impose order at a time
where neighboring towns were spiraling into violence. But as seniors,
(40:19):
we were doing our job as well. We were pushing
back against the establishment in an attempt to hold on
to our innocent traditions in the face of a dramatically
changing world. In the end, we may have gone a
little overboard in our campaign, but sometimes when you fight
the establishment, you have to break a few eggs.
Speaker 2 (40:39):
Red Pilled America is an iHeartRadio original podcast. It's owned
and produced by Patrick Carrelci and me Adriana Cortes of
Informed Ventures. Now. You can get ad free access to
our entire archive of episodes by becoming a backstage subscriber.
To subscribe, visit Redpilled America dot com. And click join
in the top menu. Thanks for listening.
This is Red Pilled America. Why aren't you a Red
Pilled America dot com subscriber? We need your support. You
can listen to all of our episodes ad free by
going to Redpilled America dot com and clicking join in
the top menu.
Speaker 2 (00:18):
If you believe in honesty and value the truth in storytelling,
then join us.
Speaker 1 (00:22):
Become a Red Pilled America fanband member by going to
Redpilled America dot com and clicking join in the topmenu.
Speaker 2 (00:28):
Red Pilled America dot Com Now on with the show.
Speaker 1 (00:31):
This episode was originally broadcast on December eighth, twenty twenty three.
As we grow up and come of age, we constantly
hear about pursuing our dreams. We hear it in our
movies and TV shows. We're the greatest single human gift,
the ability to chase down our dreams. We hear about
(00:53):
it in our school lessons. I have a dream, and
the most successful people in America encourage us to find
our purpose in life and pursue it.
Speaker 3 (01:02):
I'll say chase man, because anything else it's gonna disappoint you.
You're gonna forever be sad man. If you don't chase
that dream, you're gonna forever be miserable. Man.
Speaker 1 (01:13):
If America is anything, it's a place for dreamers. But
how do you know you've found it? How do you
recognize your purpose in life? I'm Patrick Carelchi and.
Speaker 2 (01:26):
I'm Adriana Cortes, and this.
Speaker 1 (01:28):
Is Red Pilled America, a storytelling show.
Speaker 4 (01:32):
This is not.
Speaker 2 (01:32):
Another talk show covering the day's news. We're all about
telling stories.
Speaker 4 (01:37):
Stories.
Speaker 1 (01:38):
Hollywood doesn't want you to hear stories.
Speaker 2 (01:40):
The media mocks stories about everyday Americans that the globalist ignore.
Speaker 1 (01:46):
You can think of Red Pilled America as audio documentaries,
and we promise only one thing, the truth. Welcome to
Red Pilled America.
Speaker 2 (02:06):
How do you recognize your purpose in life? To find
the answer, Patrick is going to tell a story about
the first time he faced off against the establishment and
how it would eventually open his eyes to its true calling.
Speaker 1 (02:20):
I guess the first sign that I was in over
my head was when I looked out the window and
saw my best friend being escorted into an awaiting cop car.
He was handcuffed as the officer guided him into the
backseat of the vehicle. The first thing that popped into
my mind was, oh, there wasn't much left for interpretation.
(02:45):
We were in trouble, big trouble. It was June nineteen
eighty eight, a bright, sunny, southern California day, and I
should have been on cloud nine. It was the morning
of my high school graduation day. At the time, I
really had no clue what I wanted to do with
my life. I mean, I knew I was going to college.
Maybe I'd even become a professor, perhaps an entrepreneur. It
(03:06):
was all up in the air. But one thing was certain.
Whatever I was going to do, high school graduation was
an unavoidable hurdle. I spent my high school years in
a place called North Torrance, California, a suburb about twenty
miles south of Los Angeles, and by my senior year,
the area was going through a bit of a cultural
shift that was decades in the making. When my mom
(03:29):
was born in Torrance in the late nineteen forties, the
area was still largely an agricultural community filled with cow
pastures and farm land. The town was predominantly white, with
some pockets of Japanese American farm workers. By all measures,
it was a rural American haven, a family oriented, SoCal
enclave blessed with beautiful weather, low crime, quick access to
(03:52):
the beach and snow filled mountains, and just a hop,
skip and a jump from Tinseltown, where the magic of
movie making was in full swing.
Speaker 4 (04:03):
Now.
Speaker 1 (04:03):
I was born in Torrance in nineteen seventy, lived in
the city for about five years, then moved one town
over to Carson, and that one town shift made a
world of difference. My mom, dad's sister, brother, and I
would eventually become literally the only non black family in
our Carson enclave. When my mom and dad separated, she
wanted to move back to her roots, which would be
(04:24):
a safer environment for all of us. So in nineteen
eighty four, just as the Olympics were kicking off in La,
my mom, brother, sister, and I made them move back
to North Torrance, just in time for me to enter
as a freshman in high school. Returning to my place
(04:45):
of birth was a massive improvement, but the city was
quietly going through some changes. Many of the towns just
to the north of us were suffering from urban decay,
bad social policies, a flood of low wage workers from
south of the border, crack spreading on the streets, and
manufacturing jobs being sent overseas were just a few of
the developments that began to create a violent response in
(05:07):
neighboring cities like Lowndale, Inglewood, Guardina and Compton, and some
of their problems began bleeding into our quaint little North
Torrance community. Case in point was the famed Rhodium Drive
in theater it sat right at the border of Torrents
and Guardina. As a young boy, the Rhodium was a
(05:28):
family friendly drive in theater. Ten years later and it
dropped the drive in film business to become an open
air swap meet and would eventually become the birthplace of
pioneering gangster rap group and WA. This is all to
say that by the mid nineteen eighties, North Torrance had
some rough neighbors whose problems were beginning to creep into
our neck of the woods, but it was still holding
(05:49):
on to some of its small suburban charm, including an
affinity for teenage right of passage rituals. When my mom
went to North Torrens High School in the nineteen sixties,
one of these rituals became a phenomenon in the area,
and the wee hours of the night would somehow steal
one of those large old school Bob's Big Boy fiberglass
figures from a local restaurant, drive it down a busy
(06:12):
thoroughfare without being detected by the fuzz, and then would
pop it somewhere on the high school campus, usually on
the quad, but some would even hoist it onto the
school roof. Instances of this prank were reported at multiple
high schools and torrents. By the time I went to
North High some twenty years later, school administrations and the
cops had cracked down on these Bob's Big Boy kidnappings,
(06:36):
but that spirit of poking the establishment continued in a
different form. The senior pranks shifted towards what's known today
as hazing rituals, kind of like the ones in the
movie Dazed and Confused, you know, where seniors spanked in
coming freshmen with paddles. Hi, crimer, what's.
Speaker 3 (06:52):
So, let's go baby away out and come.
Speaker 4 (06:56):
Right a mint?
Speaker 1 (06:58):
Could you do the rest of us favorly to the
gate and right field, man, I'll draw them all out
of here. I mean they're going to get you anyway.
In our case, we weren't nearly as physically violent. A
sprinkling of seniors would drive around throwing water balloons at
newly christened freshmen, but as those seniors neared graduation, the
hazing was stepped up a notch. Every year, on the
(07:21):
day before graduation, the cool, outgoing seniors would buy hundreds
upon hundreds of eggs from the local supermarket, then drive
around town looking to pick off outgoing and incoming freshmen.
Some went to guns Or Park, where the graduating class
of Cashmir Middle School held an annual event like clockwork.
As their event was underway, seniors would heave eggs into
(07:43):
the crowd of eighth graders. Stories of webbos raining from
the sky became part of local lore. Everyone knew it
was coming, including the middle school staff, but it was
all done good fun. I'm sure the adults figured students
could have been doing much worse, like the drive by
shootings littering the la times. Ultimately, these hazing rituals were
(08:04):
away to lightly teach the young'uns that there was a
cruel world out there be prepared. But these rituals also
served as second purpose. They were a big middle finger
to the school establishment. In the same spirit as Pink Floyd.
We were sending them a message, you don't control us.
(08:26):
Now I didn't go to middle school in Torrance, so
I avoided the egg raid. But since I'd played Little
League baseball in the area, I'd heard all about the
hazing and knew that during those first days of high
school I would no doubt be dodging a few water balloons.
Like most freshmen, I was one of the unlucky ones
that had to either walk or in my case, ride
a bike home from school. We were sitting ducks, completely
(08:49):
vulnerable to the car bound seniors on their safari hunts.
I was hit by a water balloon or two and
took it like a man until the spring of my
sophomore year, when I got my driver's license and my
first car, a light blue dots in B two ten.
It perpetually leaked oil, so my friends and I affectionately
named it the Blue Ghost because we had no idea
(09:09):
how it was still running. Nevertheless, that car meant I
was no longer amongst the pedestrian masses that the seniors
used for target practice. By the summer before my junior year,
my fortunes had shifted. I went from victim to a presser.
My entry into these humiliation rituals started off innocently by
teepeeing houses. You know, that age old prank of going
(09:32):
to someone's house, usually a friend, and blanketing their front lawn, bushes,
and trees with toilet paper. Unlike many of today's entitled kids,
we all had grinding, minimum wage jobs, so when someone
became the target of a teepeeing raid, we'd all pull
our money together to buy dozens of rolls of paper
and shaving cream. The shaving cream was to write a
(09:52):
message on the lawn. Then we'd all pile into a
few cars and carpet bomb someone's front yard. We made
it into an art form, being sure to go out
on damp nights, making the toilet paper nearly impossible to
easily remove. If remnants of our raid didn't stand for
at least a few weeks, it would be counted as
a failure. But there were never any hard feelings. The
(10:16):
only people that felt bad were those that didn't grab
our attention enough to deserve being teepeed. However, like what
often happens with high school pranks, things tend to escalate
until they get out of hand, and as our senior
year kicked off, an escalation would foretell trouble to come
on graduation day. Life is short. It's important to surround
(10:56):
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(12:00):
Welcome back to red pilled America. In the nineteen eighties,
my North Torrents area unofficially held what you could call
the Hazing Games, where seniors went on the hunt for freshmen,
pegging them with water balloons or eggs. But when we
got our driver's licenses, my high school buddies and I
transitioned from victim to a presser. We started off with teepeeing,
(12:20):
but as my senior year kicked off, we entered the
upper crust of the hazing class where the water balloon
prank reigned. Now where our forefathers loved this ritual, we
weren't exactly impressed. Water balloons were messy. It was difficult
to get a stockpile together, and once you did, they
were hard to handle. They'd often pop in the car
(12:41):
while on the hunt, which would eventually cause a fight
between whoever was driving and the person that wet the
inside of his car. Nevertheless, water was an effective hazing medium.
When a victim was properly soaked, it was absolutely humiliating.
Water was perfect. We just needed a better delivery system.
So one day, while I was with my mom at
(13:01):
her job at the telephone company. I found the answer
a fire extinguisher. While Mom wasn't looking, I snuck the
extinguisher out the back door and put it in the
cab of Mom's Toyota SR five long bed pickup truck.
I got the extinguisher home and secretly filled.
Speaker 4 (13:19):
It with water.
Speaker 1 (13:20):
Then I took it to a local gas station to
pump it with air to give it the required pressure.
Now by this time I'd had a new used car.
It was a navy blue, beat up old nineteen seventies
Plymouth Valare, and it was roomy inside. We called it
the Mayflower because it could fit like eight of us comfortably.
(13:40):
And we were a motley crew. White, Latino, Filipino, Mexican, Hawaiian, Korean,
Japanese in black was the cross section of my crew.
Us nineteen seventies born kids had it all figured out.
Some combination of my buddies, usually Mark, Ricky, Peewee, Close Serrillo, Stanley,
Kuan Shig or Mikey would pile into the Mayflower and
(14:01):
we'd drive around town looking for targets, always males. That's
one of the fringe benefits of women living in a patriarchy.
Most of the time, we'd drive up right beside a
bike bound freshman and nail him smack dab in the face.
They were perfect targets because they couldn't quickly duck. Of course,
they would yell, which sounded like someone trying to talk
(14:22):
under water. Now, we'd typically limit our attacks to freshman
aged guys, but occasionally someone in the car would see
an adult target that was just too good to pass up.
On one of our outings, I thought we were done
with our hunting expedition, and so I started heading back
(14:43):
to my house, where everyone's cars were parked. But as
we started getting close to my pad, my buddy Ricky,
saw a man who lived just one street over from
my house. I didn't recognize the guy, so it was on.
Ricky told me to slow down. Then he pulled the
fire extinguisher hose out of the back window and unloaded
the contents right in the guys just as he was
(15:04):
trying to get into his car. It sounded like he
was being waterboarded. Ricky yelled bone out, and I floored
it down the street. Instead of heading back to my house, though,
I took a detour and left the neighborhood. I didn't
want the guy following me home. Well, when I got
back to my pad, I guess you can say Mom
wasn't very happy with me. Apparently the guy recognized my car.
(15:29):
I guess the Mayflower was making an impression in the neighborhood.
This guy went straight to my house. It just so
happened that on that same day, my mom was throwing
a baby shower, so she had a house full of women.
The guy rang the doorbell, and when Mom opened the door,
she saw a man standing there, dripping wet.
Speaker 4 (15:48):
He was Arab.
Speaker 1 (15:49):
This Arab gentleman began explaining in broken English that her
son and his friends had just sprayed him with water
hose and it got into his car. I'm sure my
mom was pissed, but she wasn't about to sell me
out to some stranger. She told the Arab jo that
her son wasn't there and that she thought he had
the wrong place. That's when he went ballistic. According to
(16:09):
my mom, and she had a living room full of
witnesses to back her up. The man started yelling Talia shon,
Talia shon. The dude was angry, but he chose the
wrong woman to threaten. We'd moved from Carson about two
years earlier, and as the only non blacks in town,
(16:31):
we were under constant attack by our neighbors. We were
practically veterans of street conflict, so this single Arab gentleman
waging a jihat on my family didn't FaZe my mom
one bit.
Speaker 2 (16:42):
You can retaliate all you'd like, sir, but I'm getting
back to my party.
Speaker 1 (16:46):
She closed the door and that was that. He never retaliated,
and in fact, we never saw him again. When I
arrived back at home with all my friends in tow,
Mom gave us all a tongue lashing. She was kind
of the den mother for my crew. For whatever reason.
My house was one of our few defect meeting places,
so Mom had a relationship with all my buddies and
(17:07):
she was beginning to worry about us, and more specifically me.
By my senior year, the single boys in the hood
had become a street anthem in the suburb cities surrounding
the Rhodium, and it shifted the entire tenor of our
high school experience. My crew was into dancing and surfing,
while NWA introduced the thug life to the burbs. Overnight
(17:30):
every local Hoodlam became a gangsta. Although we generally tried
to avoid them, the increased temperature would sometimes pull us
into fights. We were even almost arrested once after beating
up some jocks at our local hangout, Jack in the Box.
After the incident, our school dean Dean Byerley called a
few of us into his office where police were waiting.
(17:53):
But luckily, when the cops investigated, they learned that the
jocks were the instigators and we were all still miners
while they were several years out of high school. But
the effect a fair put us on Dean Byerley's radar. Now,
Dean Byerley's history with my family went way back. My
mom and her five brothers and sisters also went to
North High when Dean Byerley was known as mister Byerley,
(18:16):
a teacher at the school, so he knew Mom for
roughly twenty years, and now he had his eye on
me and my friends. Maybe he thought the popular thug
culture was creeping into his quaint North High community via us.
In hindsight, I could understand his concern. I may have
been a straight A student, but most of my immediate
buddies didn't necessarily place school grades as a priority. I mean,
(18:39):
these were all good, hard working guys. None of them
were criminals, and all of them had jobs. Most of
the time we were just participating in good clean fund.
But alcohol had entered the picture and the shenanigans were
enough to concern my mom. On top of that, my
dad was just starting to spiral out of control. The
beginnings of a drug addiction were taking root, and it
(19:01):
was like a grenade when off within our family. Mom
was worried she wasn't alone. On one occasion, my calculus teacher,
mister Smith, asked me to stay back after class. You
told me he was a bit concerned with the people
I was hanging out with. I mean, I understood is concern,
but my friends were fun. They liked pushing the envelope,
and they felt like brothers, Guys that would die for
(19:23):
me if the opportunity presented itself, and without a father
in the house that meant something. We were all just
trying to get through this strange cultural shift that was
creeping into our neighborhood without letting it change us. I
appreciated what mister Smith was trying to do, but I
wasn't going to leave my homies. So what he said
(19:45):
when in one ear and out the other. In the
remaining months of our senior year, we had avoided major trouble,
and it looked like we were going to coast right
into graduation. A few days before that big day, our
school had a baccalaureate event. I don't know if they
have them anymore, but back then, they were kind of
(20:05):
a pregraduation ceremony that parents and students attended well. As
me and my friends lined up to enter the gymnasium
for the event, my mom took the opportunity Like a
drill sergeant. She walked up and down the line, telling
my friends and I not to make any mistakes over
these last few days.
Speaker 2 (20:23):
Don't screw this up, you guys, You're almost done.
Speaker 1 (20:26):
Behind her walked Dean Byerley, who knew all about the
end of year ritual that was on the horizon the
age old senior egging day. As my mom warned us
to stay out of trouble, Dean Byerley marched behind her
and parrotied her words. Listened to missus carelchi, guys, he
said as he looked at me. I'm watching you now.
It was one thing to hear my mom lecturing us,
(20:47):
But there was something completely different hearing the school dean
lecture us, a guy that understood the egging tradition because
he'd been at North High for at least twenty years.
There was something about a member of the establishment saying
he was watching us that rubbed me the wrong way.
I instinctively wanted to do the opposite of what the
(21:08):
man was telling me to do. The seeds of a
lifelong behavior took root. As the day before graduation arrived.
Speaker 4 (21:18):
We were all hyped. This was the Big.
Speaker 1 (21:21):
Egging Day, an event that many of us seniors had
been anticipating for four years. It was our turn to
carry on this ride of passage, a tradition that had
been going on for as long as anyone, including Dean Byerley,
could remember. I mean, this day was so firmly ingrained
in our community that the local supermarket stacked crates of
their expired eggs right in front of the store. They
(21:43):
didn't even bother refrigerating them. I mean, there were hundreds
upon hundreds of eggs. The Great Egging Raid was practically
a publicly sanctioned event up there with Fourth of July
and Halloween, A big posse of us cut out of
school early that day, twenty one people to be exact.
We headed over to the grocery store each about a
few days and eggs, and then made our way over
(22:05):
to Gunzer Park, the site of the Kashmir Middle School's
annual gathering. But when we arrived, there was no one there.
No eighth graders, no teachers, no school administrators. Nobody could
put not as ilch. There was just a few old
folks walking their dogs and some parents with their toddlers
on playdates. And we weren't about to hag them. The
(22:28):
I thought they canceled the event, yelled my buddy Ricky.
This was unacceptable. Means four long years we'd been waiting,
it was our turn, and someone canceled the festivities to
avoid the raid. It was Dean Bayerley. I said to
the crowd, they aren't getting away with this, blurted out
my buddy close. I mean, they were taking away our
(22:48):
god given right up there with free speech and the
right to bear arms. We weren't about to let this stand.
So we all piled back into our cars and headed
over to Kashmir Middle School. We'd cut out of school early,
so they had to sl in class. As we creeped
past the front of Kashmir, we could see signs of
schools still being in session. Now, we were young, but
(23:11):
we weren't stupid. If we attacked at the front of
the school, where the school administration offices were, we'd be
caught red handed. So we decided to set up our
ambush elsewhere. Now I knew this place well. I used
to have Little League practice there often. Kashmir had a
large playground on the east side of the campus. It's
a huge area black tar, handball, basketball and volleyball courts
(23:33):
transitioned into a huge football slash baseball field from the streets.
There were two points of entry to this field, one
at the northeast corner and one near the southeast corner.
When the last bell rang, the kids that lived east
of the school would all walk through this field Lady
Dadi d'adi Da and bottleneck through these two exits to
get home. It was the perfect choke point. The students
(23:57):
would be sitting ducks. The best part was that this
area was far away from the school's administration buildings. We'd
set up an ambush, picked them off one by one
with eggs as they exited and be completely out of
the prying eyes of the school's staff. On paper, it
was a flawless plan. We drove to the east side
(24:17):
of the school, parked our cars, grabbed our eggs, and
some of us made our way to the southeast exit,
while the rest of us went to the northeast corner.
The girls waited in the car in case we needed
to make a quick getaway. We sat there patiently waiting
for the last bell to ring, and when it did,
we expected in a matter of a minute or two,
(24:40):
students would start crowding through the choke points at the
east side of the school. But one minute turned into two,
then three, and no students were arriving. Something was off,
and we'd soon learn what you see. At the northeast exit,
where me and my car load of friends went, you
could hide behind the houses, so any kids playing in
(25:00):
the field at the end of the school day couldn't
see us. But at the southeast exit there was really
no cover. If they didn't crouch down, they were in
the direct line of everyone on the field. Will Apparently,
some of the eighth graders saw our rebel forces set
up at the southeast exit, and they knew exactly what
was coming. I mean, the off campus event was canceled
(25:20):
that day. They knew a raid was coming, so they
were on high alert. Like anything in middle school, news
of our arrival must have spread like wildfire, because minutes
after the final bell rang, no one was leaving class.
And that's when we made a fatal mistake. At the time, we,
(25:47):
or at least I thought Dean Barley, was trying to
nip this annual rite of passage ritual in the bud,
and we weren't going to allow that to happen. So
we decided to bring the egg raid into Kashmir Middle School.
When no kids arrived at the choke point, we entered
the field and made our way toward the classrooms, and
sure enough we could see the students crowded up near
(26:08):
the doors, peering out. We weren't gonna let them get
away with this coming up through North High We'd all
been nailed a time or two and we took it
like men. Yet here was the next generation avoiding this
hazing ritual, no doubt, with the help of the school administration.
So when we saw the kids taking cover in the classrooms,
we threw caution to the wind and let our eggs fly.
(26:35):
Wavos were pummeling the outside of the classrooms like an
apocalyptic wave of hail. A few students dumb enough to
attempt walking between bungalows made a run for it. As
they dropped their bags trying to lighten the load, eggs
began pelting their backs and legs. As one unlucky guy
ran for cover, my buddy close got within arm's length
(26:55):
and decided to dunk an egg on his head. And
that's when we all remembered the type of eggs we'd
just purchased.
Speaker 4 (27:02):
When we all.
Speaker 1 (27:03):
Stoked up at the local supermarket. The eggs were stacked
at the front of the store, unrefrigerated. They must have
been there all day in the hot summer sun, because
when the eggs smashed, there was a light tint of
green to them. They were rotten, rotten to the core. Well,
when my buddy close smacked the egg on top of
this kid's head, the debris splashed close in the face.
(27:25):
He immediately began to dry heave. He dropped to his knees.
One of our rebel soldiers was hit. As I turned
my head back to the classrooms, eighth graders were shrieking,
half laughing, really as we executed a shock and all
attack on the school. Eggs were smashing against the walls
and windows.
Speaker 4 (27:43):
It was all so beautiful.
Speaker 1 (27:45):
And then something happened. I can remember it clearly. As
I released one of my eggs, I watched it glide
through the air, as if it were traveling in slow motion.
I stood silently as I saw it reach the peak
of its trajectory, then twirl end over end into it
passed right through the doorway, crashing deep within the classroom.
(28:08):
We'd infiltrated their bunker. There was no turning back. As
I looked on, one egg after another began finding their
way through the doors and into the classrooms. When we
finally came to our senses, we turned around and ran
through the field like our lives depended on it. We
slammed through the gate opening, jumped into our cars, and
(28:29):
peeled out down the streets. Getaway vehicles were scattering in
every possible direction. Go go, go go, yelled my buddy
Mark as I booked it down the street. By the
time we left the neighborhood, the car was engulfed in laughter.
War stories were already being exchanged.
Speaker 4 (28:48):
Did you see that kid jumping for.
Speaker 1 (28:49):
Cover, said Mark Man.
Speaker 4 (28:51):
Close was practically throwing up. I added, it was like we'd.
Speaker 1 (28:55):
Just stormed the beaches of Normandy. After we got back
to my house, we all swore each other to secrecy,
but there really wasn't much to worry about. I mean,
this was before surveillance cameras became the norm, so they
could never know for sure it was us, we thought,
And besides, we'd all parked at the east side of
(29:15):
the school, so no one could even see our cars.
And even if a student did recognize one of us,
there wasn't enough time to put two and two together
for there to be any repercussions. Graduation was the next day.
After that, they couldn't touch us. I went to bed
that night thinking we'd pulled one over on the school
(29:37):
administration that tried to end our annual ritual. But little
did we know that someone had made a critical mistake,
and that mistake was about to come back to haunt us.
Speaker 2 (29:53):
Do you want to hear red Pilled America stories ad free?
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today and help us save America, one story at a time.
Speaker 1 (30:09):
Welcome back to red pilled America. So the day after
the Great egg Grade, I went to North High like
any other morning. It was going to be a short day,
and later that afternoon we'd all walk up to the
stage to get our diplomas. As I sat in calculus
class and joined my last day as a senior, mister
Smith went around the room asking us about our summer plans.
(30:31):
And that's when what appeared to be a school administrator
walked into the room. She handed mister Smith a note.
He read it and the end of the year cheer
dropped from his face. He looked up, scanned the room,
and her eyes locked.
Speaker 4 (30:48):
Patrick.
Speaker 1 (30:49):
Mister Byerley wants to see you, he said, in a
disappointed tone.
Speaker 4 (30:54):
No, I thought.
Speaker 1 (30:57):
I grabbed my backpack and made the long walk to
the office. When I arrived, Dean Byerley said, a seat son,
I complied. Dean Byerley went on to explain that there
was an egging incident at Kashmere. Hmm. I gave him
a confused look. Apparently a middle school teacher was somehow
(31:17):
able to identify one of the seniors involved in the raid.
We have reason to believe you were involved too, Patrick,
Do you have anything to say for yourself?
Speaker 4 (31:26):
Hmm uh no, nuh.
Speaker 1 (31:29):
I kept a tight lip. I didn't lie, but I
also didn't confess. If he knew I was involved, I'd
already be busted. You sure you have nothing else to say? Son?
Speaker 4 (31:39):
No?
Speaker 1 (31:40):
Uh uh okay, all right, all right, you got me?
Speaker 4 (31:44):
Yes, I was involved.
Speaker 1 (31:45):
That George Washington Cherry Tree in doctrination really stuck.
Speaker 4 (31:49):
Who else was involved?
Speaker 1 (31:50):
He barked, well that I can't say. I may have
been an egger, but I definitely wasn't a rat. He
escorted me to what appeared to be a meeting room
with a big table. My buddy Close was already seated
in the room. He looked up at me, trying to
hold back a smile. Mister Biley closed the door behind him.
Did you say anything, he asked. I admitted to being involved,
(32:12):
but that's it. Close said he admitted it as well,
but didn't name anyone else. And I believed him. He
was the type of guy that would take the fall
for his friends. Close and I began racking our brains
trying to figure out how we'd been fingered. As we talked,
(32:34):
our buddy Mikey walked in, then Ricky, then Stanley, then Cirillo.
One by one, everyone that had went on the egging
raid came strolling into the room. We were obviously in
a pickle, but you couldn't tell by looking at us.
It was a festive environment, like old friends getting.
Speaker 4 (32:56):
Together at a local pub.
Speaker 1 (32:58):
We were taking group pictures, hamming it up. I mean,
it was our last day of school, but with a
suspend us. The energy in the room was electric, that
is until Mom walked in. The entire room went silent.
She glared at me, then scanned the rest of the room.
Speaker 2 (33:18):
Do you guys think this is a joke?
Speaker 1 (33:19):
Growled my mom.
Speaker 2 (33:20):
This is serious.
Speaker 1 (33:22):
We were all scared straight. Then a few moments later
I heard a gasp. A small crowd formed at the
window facing the street. As I made my way through,
I saw my best friend Mark being escorted to an
awaiting cop car.
Speaker 4 (33:38):
It was handcuffed as.
Speaker 1 (33:40):
An officer guided him into the vehicle. The first thing
that popped into my mind was, oh sh There wasn't
much left for interpretation. We were in trouble, big trouble.
By this time, the party energy was completely sucked out
of the room as we sat there in silence, waiting
for our fate. It was probably only a few minutes later,
(34:02):
but it felt like hours. When Dean Byerley finally came
back in the room and asked for me and my
mom to come.
Speaker 4 (34:08):
To his office.
Speaker 1 (34:09):
I sat down in a chair opposite his desk. My
mom chose to remain standing. Gotrick, I regret to inform
you that you won't be participating in our graduation ceremonies today.
My mom began to cry. This was her big moment,
something she'd been working towards for eighteen years, and I
blew it for her. Since elementary school, She'd been on
(34:33):
top of me every day to make sure I'd finished
my homework. During high school, she had drilled into me
that I'd have to finish my homework before I could
have fun with the guys. So as my friends used
my house actually her house, as an after school hangout,
I'd be perched up to the dinner table finishing my homework, just.
Speaker 4 (34:51):
Like she taught me.
Speaker 1 (34:52):
All her hard work resulted in a straight A student,
and that day was supposed to be the big payoff
for her, and now I'd blown it. As my mom cried,
Dean continued, I'm sorry, there's nothing I can do about it.
We don't have time to sort through all of this,
so we have to hold everyone involved accountable. He explained
that he wanted to tell me first because of my
(35:14):
focus on academics, but I think it was mainly out
of respect for my mom, who he'd known as a
student way back in the day. I went home, but
my mom stuck around with other parents trying to make
a last ditch push for us to participate in the ceremony,
but it didn't work. I think it was twenty one
of us in total. We're banned from the graduation ceremony.
Even the girls that waited in the car who didn't
(35:36):
throw a single egg were lumped in with us rebel eggers.
How we got caught was a mystery for a while,
but slowly pieces of the puzzle began to reveal themselves. Apparently,
someone from our crew foolishly drove past the front of
Cashmere after our raid and threw some eggs at the
exiting students, and when they did, a faculty member caught
(35:57):
the license plate of the car. From that one car,
they were able to guess which click at North High
was involved. As our crew got pulled out one by
one into the Dean's office, everyone said that they kept
their mouths shut when they pressed my buddy Mark on
who was involved. He also kept quiet. In fact, he
got a little lippy and mouthed off to Dean Byerley
(36:19):
and the observing police officer. So they decided to spook
us by parading him in front of our window, handcuffed.
It wasn't long after that that someone from our crew
caved and began naming names. To this day, it's a
mystery who sang like a canary. The story of our
(36:40):
expulsion spread like wildfire throughout the school. The local newspaper,
The Daily Breeze, even showed up to the campus to
cover the Great Egging incident. If I remember correctly, I
think one of the reporters called us the drive by Eggers,
effectively mocking the school for expelling us while literally drive
by shootings were happening just a few miles away. By
the time my mom arrived home, I'd never seen so
(37:03):
upset with me. She'd worked so hard to get me
through school, and it was going to be her personal
badge of honor to see me walking on the stage
to receive that diploma, and I had taken that from
her well.
Speaker 4 (37:15):
Not exactly about a week.
Speaker 1 (37:21):
Later, the parents of one of my fellow egging rebels,
my buddy Stanley. His parents hosted a graduation ceremony at
their home for everyone that was banned from the official event.
Reporters even attended that ceremony as well. We each walked
up to receive our faux diplomas. Most apologized to their parents,
a few expressed regrets for their involvement, but some of
(37:44):
us were a bit more defiant, including yours. Truly, I
of course apologized to my mom, but I couldn't help myself.
I said, I didn't regret a thing. If I had
it to do over again, I told my mom I
would have done the same exact thing, and why because
the establishment said we couldn't. We were fighting to keep
(38:05):
our traditions, so we gave the man the one finger salute.
Over the years, the school administration completely cracked down on
the hazing games, not only at North High but all
over America. Right off passage rituals were labeled as bullying.
Maybe some of it was, but perhaps if the establishment
had allowed us to keep our innocent traditions, Maybe, just
(38:29):
maybe there wouldn't be so many men out there trying
to become women, Which leads us back to the question
(38:50):
how do you find your purpose in life? Of all people,
I think game show host Steve Harvey gave a great
answer to this question.
Speaker 3 (39:01):
I say, chase your dreams, man. Do that thing. Man,
it keeps you up at night, that thing that bothers you, Man,
that makes you trip. You can't quit thinking about it.
That's what you got to chase. If you don't chase
that dream, you gonna ever be miserable man.
Speaker 1 (39:15):
For me, I've always loved poking the establishment, and when
the establishment gets something wrong, it keeps me up at
night trying to figure out how to expose it. It
took me years to realize this about myself, but my
reaction to being suspended over the egging raid was perhaps
the first sign that I had something in me that
most did not. When there was massive pressure for us
(39:37):
seniors to express remorse over what we had done, I
didn't regret a thing, and I said as much. Yes,
I temporarily let my mom down, but I eventually made
it up to her. I was the first in our
family to graduate with a bachelor's and master's degree, and
she saw me walk on stage to get both those diplomas.
What I learned about myself from the Egging incident was
(39:58):
that I wasn't afraid to push the envelope, question authority
and have fun doing it. And this is what keeps
me up at night. It is my purpose. Looking back,
I don't blame Dean Byerley for suspending us. He was
doing his job, trying to impose order at a time
where neighboring towns were spiraling into violence. But as seniors,
(40:19):
we were doing our job as well. We were pushing
back against the establishment in an attempt to hold on
to our innocent traditions in the face of a dramatically
changing world. In the end, we may have gone a
little overboard in our campaign, but sometimes when you fight
the establishment, you have to break a few eggs.
Speaker 2 (40:39):
Red Pilled America is an iHeartRadio original podcast. It's owned
and produced by Patrick Carrelci and me Adriana Cortes of
Informed Ventures. Now. You can get ad free access to
our entire archive of episodes by becoming a backstage subscriber.
To subscribe, visit Redpilled America dot com. And click join
in the top menu. Thanks for listening.
Hosts And Creators
Adryana Cortez
Patrick Courrielche
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