Tyler shares her story at 'Power of Purple' luncheon
Waterford — Nancy Tyler survived to tell her story, and tell it she must, though she doesn't like to relive the day her ex-husband kidnapped her at gunpoint and held her hostage.
Standing before a sold-out crowd of 200 at the Power of Purple domestic violence awareness luncheon at the Great Neck Country Club Wednesday, Tyler, the victim of one of the state's most notorious domestic violence cases, confided she had missed the warning signs of danger during her five-year divorce ordeal with Richard J. Shenkman.
"I now know we were living through a pretty classic pattern of abuse, but I didn't know it then," said Tyler, a lawyer who lives in Niantic and West Hartford.
Her life has returned to normal since Shenkman was sentenced to 70 years in prison in 2012, and Tyler has become an advocate for domestic violence awareness.
Tyler's adult daughter, neighbors from Niantic and friends attended the luncheon along with Lt. Gov. Nancy Wyman, community leaders, survivors of domestic violence and advocates. Many wore purple in keeping with the awareness theme and marveled at Tyler's resiliency after hearing her story.
"That she has not just survived, but thrived, is a testament to her character, her strength and power to come back from tragedy to success," said Norwich attorney Sheila Horvitz in her introduction of Tyler.
Horvitz runs a memorial fund on behalf of a client, Rose Conrad, who was killed by her estranged husband in 2004. The Power of Purple Campaign is a partnership of Hadassah of Eastern Connecticut, The Rose Conrad Memorial Fund and Safe Futures, the agency that provides services to domestic violence victims in southeastern Connecticut.
Tyler serves on the board of directors of the Connecticut Coalition Against Domestic Violence, an umbrella organization for Safe Futures and 17 other agencies.
"All those years I honestly did not have a clue," Tyler said. "I wished I had called for help. I wish I had gotten help from people like Safe Futures. Would it have made a difference? I don't know, because he was so extreme."
Long before their story hit the national news, Shenkman had started isolating and verbally berating Tyler and her two children. He forced them to "walk on eggshells" in the family home until one night he threw out Tyler and her son after a fight about the son using the computer too much, she said.
Shenkman proceeded to stalking and threatening behavior after she filed for restraining orders and divorce, Tyler said. That was in 2006.
Even when he was charged with burning down her Niantic beach home on the weekend before he was to turn it over to her, Tyler said she thought it was just a childish act by a man who didn't get his own way. Shenkman acted so bizarrely during the divorce trial that judicial marshals began escorting her to and from her car. Tyler said she still thought she could handle it by herself.
"I was not seeing it as it was going on," she said. "I was just trying to raise my kids, do my job. I had no safety plan. I carried Mace on my keychain. That was my safety plan."
With the divorce finalized and Shenkman's appeal rejected, the couple had a court date in Hartford on July 7, 2009. As she left her workplace for court and saw her ex-husband's van parked outside the parking garage, Tyler called her friend rather than 911. When Shenkman came running out from a hiding place near the parking garage elevator and held a gun to her head, she was holding her phone and could not get to the Mace she had relied on for protection.
Shenkman took her back to his house in South Windsor, where he had covered the windows, installed surveillance cameras and gathered ropes, knives and handcuffs, Tyler said.
"He said he spent eight months planning for this," she said.
During the next 12 hours, Shenkman shot off the gun and put it to her face at least twice and started to count down, she said. He demanded that police send a hostage negotiation manual, secure a license and judge to remarry them and a local priest to give Tyler last rites. He called her family members, forcing her to say goodbye to them. She learned later that nursing home staff disconnected the TV to spare her 94-year-old mother from seeing the news.
Handcuffed and bolted to a wall in the basement, Tyler seized an opportunity to escape when Shenkman went to check on a police remote-controlled robot that had enraged him.
"I thought, this was my chance," Tyler said. She unscrewed the bolt and ran out of the home, even though Shenkman had told her the doorway was wired with explosives.
The house went up in flames a short time later and Shenkman came out and surrendered to police after being shot with non-lethal bullets, she said.
Even after he was incarcerated, Shenkman continued to threaten her with a murder-for-hire plot, and at his sentencing talked about a plot to kill her.
Tyler said her only lasting scar is one she chose — a matching tattoo that she got with her daughter from Psalm 138:3. "On the day I called out for you, you gave me strength to my soul," it says.
During the luncheon, Wyman, Horvitz and others urged those in attendance to call their legislators to support a bill that would require anyone who is the subject of a domestic violence restraining order to surrender their guns even before a judge hears the details of the accused abuses.
Wyman said it can sometimes take up to two weeks for the cases to be heard and that deaths have occurred during that time.
k.florin@theday.com
Twitter: @KFLORIN
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