Husband shoots wife to death
soc.men moderator
By Heather Ratcliffe Of the Post-Dispatch
03/01/2003 05:25 PM
Nan Wyatt, left, and Ronda Burgmann hold each other's children Sam
Burgmann and Drake Erbland.
An unexpected telephone message from an increasingly troubled friend
made Ronda Burgmann uneasy.
The tension in his home in Twin Oaks had become unbearable, Thomas
Erbland Jr., told his son's former nanny three weeks ago. He wanted to
stay with her.
Burgmann had remained friends with Erbland and his locally famous
wife, radio personality Nan Wyatt. She figured it wouldn't help the
failing marriage for him to take shelter in her home in Greenville,
Ill.
In an e-mail the next day, Burgmann gently refused and urged Erbland
to talk it out with his spouse.
It even occurred to Burgmann, she said last week, that the unraveling
Erbland might pose a risk to his own safety. But she never imagined
that three days after the call, his desperation could turn outward to
murder.
"They were both intelligent, kind people," Burgmann said on
reflection. "I couldn't understand why they couldn't work it out."
Hardly anyone heard of Erbland until his wife, whose full name was
Nandray Ann Walicki Erbland, 44, was shot to death in their bedroom
Feb. 18. Her sobbing husband almost immediately confessed to police
and anyone else who would listen.
In interviews, Burgmann and others helped illuminate the shadows of
the life of Erbland, 43, the low-profile husband of a high-profile
woman who co-hosted St. Louis' top-rated morning radio show, on KMOX,
and appeared on the weekly public affairs TV show "Donnybrook" on KETC
(Channel 9).
Intelligent. Charming. Physically strong. Emotionally weak. Angry.
Depressed. A loving father. A difficult employee. A heartbroken
husband. Those close to Erbland described a complex man and the
makings of an emotional storm that some figured had been brewing since
his childhood.
Raised in the Middle East
Thomas Joseph Erbland Jr. was born in 1959 to American parents who
lived in Saudi Arabia. His father worked there in the oil industry.
Young Thomas lived in the Middle East until he graduated from a
military high school there.
His parents, Tom and Phyllis Erbland, now living in New Hampshire,
were stern and tough with the only son among their three children,
Erbland told friends. He severed ties with most of his family when he
moved to the United States for college.
His parents and a sister could not be reached for this story. His
other sister, April Erbland, who lives in Colorado, said by phone that
she has a lot to say about her brother but is not yet ready to say it.
In 1982, Thomas Erbland graduated with a Bachelor of Arts degree from
George Washington University in Washington, and then attended a
technical college to learn computer programming.
While still in Washington, he developed software for the U.S.
Department of Education. It was enjoyable work, he told Burgmann,
because he felt that he was contributing to a greater cause.
After a serious relationship with a woman named Mary that ended in the
early 1990s, Erbland moved to Chicago for a fresh start.
A man on the street
Erbland, tall and powerfully built, took care of his physique and
enjoyed participating in triathlon competitions.
In the spring of 1995, he was jogging along Lake Michigan when a
reporter for WBBM radio asked the stranger for a "man-on-the-street"
interview. The reporter was Wyatt, who had moved from St. Louis less
than a year before, to become the afternoon drive-time news anchor.
Co-workers at WBBM remember her as successful, intelligent, outgoing
and eager for companionship.
"She was definitely in pursuit of a relationship," said Deborah
McCabe, a friend and co-worker.
Two months after the interview turned into a whirlwind romance, Wyatt
became pregnant. The couple married in a civil ceremony in Chicago
then again in a church after they relocated to St. Louis in 1996, when
Wyatt rejoined KMOX.
They placed an ad in the Post-Dispatch looking for a nanny for their
3-month-old son, Drake. Burgmann answered the ad.
She described them as good people and devoted parents: "I really
admired them and their life."
But Burgmann soon noticed a crack in their marriage. "Their whole
relationship revolved around their child," Burgmann said. "They didn't
seem to have a common bond between them."
Some friends quietly say they were led to wonder whether Wyatt wanted
a husband or just a father for their child.
She lived a hectic schedule that started on radio before dawn and
often ran into the evening with personal appearances and charity work.
Once a week, she taped the popular "Donnybrook" show. Erbland, the
nanny observed, spent a lot of time alone.
Riding bikes and wrestling
"He is a great father," Burgmann said, explaining that he rode bikes
with Drake, wrestled on the carpet and played video games. They even
brushed their teeth together.
"He always made sure that Drake knew he loved him and he was proud of
him, probably because he lacked that in his own childhood," Burgmann
explained.
Neither Wyatt nor Erbland discussed much of their personal lives with
outsiders. Some of Wyatt's best friends said they met Erbland only a
few times.
"He was very nice and quiet," said Kate Walters, a close friend of
Wyatt's. "But Nan was the life of the party. She had a great sense of
humor and a wonderful laugh."
Burgmann realized from the beginning that it was Wyatt who ran the
household. "Tom was always the weaker one of the relationship," she
said.
In 1998, Burgmann left the nanny job when she gave birth to her own
child. Erbland quit his job to care for Drake.
At about the same time, Erbland formed a computer consulting company
called the Valentine Group Inc., and worked from home. He dissolved
the business about a year later.
Erbland was hired to do computer programming for several companies in
the St. Louis area, including United Van Lines, Federal Mogul and
KPMG. In each case, he lasted only a few months on the job.
Former co-workers said Erbland had difficulty controlling his temper,
verbally lashing out at other employees for their mistakes.
"He was always getting angry and sounding off," said one co-worker,
who was Erbland's colleague at two separate companies. "That's why he
would always lose his job."
Nobody remembered Erbland ever turning violent.
Burgmann said Erbland didn't talk about his career problems. "I think
he was embarrassed," she said.
Talking about divorce
Erbland and Wyatt began discussing divorce as long as two years ago,
Burgmann said. He resisted at first, she explained, but later seemed
to come to grips with the idea that the marriage might not be saved.
The couple never separated because they decided the timing was wrong
for their son, Burgmann continued.
With his career and marriage crumbling simultaneously, Erbland told
Burgmann that he wanted to become a better person. He began attending
the First Unitarian Church in St. Louis; his son and wife occasionally
joined him.
Erbland added spiritual guides and self-help books to his extensive
reading collection. "His spiritual growth was something he was taking
very seriously," Burgmann said. "He was searching for meaning in his
life."
But depression eclipsed his progress about a month ago, she said. "I
suggested that maybe he get some help."
She said Erbland had tried counseling and medication to control his
depression but more recently was facing his demons alone.
He was particularly devastated after he sneaked a look inside his
wife's private journal and read words that questioned whether Wyatt
had ever been in love with him, Burgmann said.
Tension in the home apparently increased on Feb. 15, when the family
threw a birthday party for Drake, who had just turned 7. It was that
night when Erbland called Burgmann and left a message on her answering
machine, looking for an escape.
"He said things were really bad," Burgmann explained. He wanted out of
the home.
Messages from a book
The next day, Erbland and Burgmann exchanged e-mails. Erbland told her
about a book he had spent the past two days devouring. It is called
"Listen, Little Man," written in 1945 by the late Wilhelm Reich.
"He said the book described him so succinctly," Burgmann said. "It
confirmed his ideas he had about himself. It explained his failures."
Reich had written it as a conversation with a "common man" about
taking responsibility for his life against the backdrop of German
society in World War II.
In the 127-page book, Reich says men destroy themselves and create
their own misery. He repeatedly uses words like "murder" and "kill,"
although the text does not seem to advocate literal violence.
"You are afflicted with the emotional plague. You are sick, very sick,
Little Man. It is not your fault. But it is your responsibility to rid
yourself of this sickness," the book reads.
The evening of Feb. 18, Erbland dropped Drake at the home of Wyatt's
mother in St. Louis County and then called police on a cell phone. He
admitted he killed his wife and spoke of committing suicide before
officers talked him into surrendering. He is held without bond on
charges of first-degree murder and armed criminal action.
Erbland also told authorities he had planned the murder for a week and
shot Wyatt with a .357 Magnum revolver he had bought 16 years before
in an abandoned plan to kill himself.
He said he sent Drake to a friend's house at the time of the killing,
but the boy came home early and waited downstairs, hearing the shots
upstairs but not seeing his mother die.
Stunned at what happened, Burgmann scoured bookstores until she found
a copy of "Listen, Little Man." She said she was horrified to read the
harsh words and imagine how they might have sounded to the anguished
Erbland.
"It was like he was getting suggestions from this book," she said. "I
believe that it was the last straw that pushed him over the edge."
Reporter Heather Ratcliffe:
E-mail: hratc...@post-dispatch.com
Phone: 314-863-2821