Former UCO professor's harrowing time in Ukraine is detailed in new book

Timothy Morales, a 58-year-old former English professor from the University of Central Oklahoma, knew something was terribly wrong when his former wife left a terse, frantic message on his cell phone.

The English-language tutor and father of two was still asleep early one morning in Kherson, a port city in southern Ukraine that sits by the Black Sea and on the banks of the Dnipro River.

She told him the Russians had invaded Kherson that morning, Feb. 24, 2022, and that he needed to get out of town immediately.

He tried, but didn't make it out in advance of the invading Russians. And because he was an American, he needed to hide from them or he would likely be killed, he said.

Morales has written a 189-page book, "Walking Past Tombstones," describing his 10 months hiding in Russian-occupied Kherson, during which time he was interrogated by the Russian secret police toting machine guns before eventually escaping to and living in Odesa, about 124 miles to the west.

Published in April, "Tombstones" is an excellent read for those wanting to keep up with one of the world's latest hot spots. Using sarcasm, wit and humor — and the occasional profanity — the book moves quickly and is full of details about the country and the people Morales has grown to love and still doesn't want to leave.

Hiding from the Russian soldiers would not be easy for Morales, who stands 6 feet tall. A big man with a gracious, gregarious personality and darker complexion reflecting his paternal Hispanic heritage, he looked different from the locals, he explains in his book.

Worried about being recognized on the streets, he tried to blend in, wearing sweatpants, t-shirts, and tennis shoes. A wool hat camouflaged his big head with white hair. He walked with a limp to appear weak and non-threatening.

With two degrees from the University of Central Oklahoma and a PhD from Purdue University, he taught classes from about 1997 to 2000 on the Edmond campus. But he rejected the life of an academic in the U.S., he craved adventure.

Born in Holland and having grown up as a "military brat," his Air Force family had lived all over the world, but eventually settled in Oklahoma about 1983. His late father Demetrio retired as a tech sergeant after 27 years with the Air Force, and then worked for the FAA.

His mother, 95-year-old Joyce Morales, said that her son always enjoyed meeting people from different countries.

"We're sort of a family that enjoys people from other countries and other cultures. We instilled that in our children, that belief," said the older Morales from her home in Oklahoma City where she has lived for 40 years.

About 16 years ago, her son started his own tutoring business in Kherson, teaching English to students and transcribing documents for local and government officials. It flourished. His services were unique and even more in demand because he was a native English speaker.

Although most days in hiding were mundane and boring, not getting caught by the Russians permeated every waking moment, he said in a video interview from Odesa recently. He lived between two apartments to avoid being seen. On most days, there was no water, heat, electricity or internet access.

Occasionally, he would sit outside in a walled courtyard, but most of the time, he sat in the dark inside, usually eating pot noodles; he ended up losing about 20 pounds.

To pass the time, he watched old movies on his laptop when he could keep it charged. To stay mentally sharp, he continued to tutor students online when he could find internet access, but there was no way he could accept payment for the lessons and cash for food was scarce.

Then, about six and half months after the Russian occupation began, nearly a dozen Russians carrying machine guns started pounding on his door.  He surmised they were FSB or Federal Security Service officers, the successor for what used to be the former Soviet Union's  KGB, or secret police.

They were searching for members of the underground, pro-Ukrainian, resistance movement, or anyone opposed to Putin's military advances in Kherson. Since the U.S. is helping fund the Ukrainians as they oppose the Kremlin's war in the Ukraine, Americans, too, are viewed as the enemy and eliminated.

Their chaotic orders yelled through the door in Russian still chill him, he said, as they repeatedly taunted, "Come outside and say hello to their little friends."

Morales ignored them for a time but a neighbor outside in the hall encouraged him to open the door, as he had no choice.

Once the Russians entered his apartment, he pretended to be Irish, because (to the Russians) it was likely the "least offensive English-speaking country."

He pretended he didn't speak or understand Russian, as it was "the easiest way to diffuse the situation."

An interpreter who spoke English tried to interrogate Morales, but his English was not very good, said Morales, who took advantage of it.

Morales responded by speaking English the interpreter couldn't understand, which frustrated him.

Exasperated, the interpreter eventually avoided him. But not before Morales was frog-marched upstairs with a gun to his head. His bedroom was ransacked but nothing of interest was found. In order to protect him, his American passport had already been destroyed.

Morales credits an elderly neighbor woman for likely saving his life. Russians, he said, hate being yelled at by an older woman, or babushka. And this neighbor woman kept shouting at the officers, "He's a teacher. Leave him alone."

Eventually, the Russians did leave, but Morale, knowing he was now on their radar, sensed they would likely be back. He left and didn't return until after Kherson was liberated.

The book's most poignant anecdote was Morales helping his daughter Isabella, then 10 years old, quickly pack to try to escape with her mother.

The two of them were joining a convoy the next day to escape Kherson but as there were nearly 50 checkpoints in the area, and it wasn't clear who was in charge of them, Morales did not go with them, fearing his American citizenship would doom them all.

His son, Christian, a university physics student, was able to escape Kherson by train after waiting hours on a railway platform, much like his maternal grandmother did nearly 80 years ago during World War II.

As a child growing up in England during World War II, Morales' mother Joyce was no stranger to military conflict.

At age 11 she had been evacuated with hundreds of other children who were shipped out to live in rural farm areas to avoid the Luftwaffe's bombings of her hometown of Manchester.

When she was older, she joined the British Auxiliary Territorial Service and became a "gunner girl." On one military training exercise for both the Brits and Americans, she met the American soldier who would later become her husband for 65 years, Demetrio.

Being in Oklahoma offered her family a safe haven from the kind of fear she had known as a child, she said she thought. Never again would she or her family have to hide during an air raid or stand on a railway platform desperate for a safe passage out.

But then, the past repeated itself.

"I cried a lot," she said.

"Russia is such a big country. Such a big force.  I didn't see how the Ukraine could possibly stand up to them," she said softly while sipping hot tea and eating an English biscuit from the safety of her cheerful kitchen.

Morales' eventual escape from Kherson to Odesa could be described as anti-climatic, almost simple.

His older sister, Dee Morales, an independent news producer in Oklahoma City, had spent months trying to contact members of Congress, the State Department, and underground resistance members in the Ukraine, asking for assistance in getting him out.

But last November, eight days after the liberation of Kherson had begun, two news crews helped Morales leave Kherson by car, riding with them as if a member of their news team.

His apartment in Odesa is less than a mile from the now defunct Russian consulate. From his balcony, he said he can see the Black Sea and watch incoming Russian missiles and drones as they target various parts of the city. He lives in the famous, resort area of Arcadia, lush with beaches, where many Russians own property and vacation homes, he writes. The military is not likely to destroy its own property, he believes, so he feels safe, at least for the moment.

When asked why he doesn't leave and go somewhere safe, like Oklahoma, he says he can't leave the Ukraine now, as long as his two children are still here.

This article originally appeared on Oklahoman: Former UCO professor, his mom, discuss his flight from Ukraine, book