Ramsey Raher has reclaimed his life by helping others reclaim theirs through golf
By Cameron Morfit
The enemy had been hit and miss, for they lacked the equipment to target Forward Operating Base Kalsu, 25 miles outside Baghdad, from long range.
It was night, July 31, 2007. The troops were “inside the
wire,” protective gear off, two men to each of the 20-foot container housing units. That’s when the one-in-a-million shot came in, a 122-millimeter rocket landing as if guided by GPS.
You could call it a miracle, the story of Army Spc. Ramsey Raher, PGA Associate at San Francisco’s Presidio Golf Course, who also teaches through the PGA of America’s PGA HOPE (Helping Our Patriots Everywhere).
But Raher would say there are miracles everywhere.
“There are inspiring stories amongst a lot of people,” he said, loath to talk about himself even as he admits he probably should warm to it. Two of his fellow soldiers died and 11 more were injured as the troops scattered from their decimated barracks. Shrapnel pierced Raher’s lungs, liver and stomach, his body nearly shut down completely, and once it became clear he would survive in the short term, the mental gremlins were waiting.
His story recalls a line by “Redeployment” author Phil Klay: “The thinking comes later, when they give you the time. See, it’s not a straight shot back, from war to the Jacksonville mall.” But it’s also equal parts this truism by Swiss philosopher Henri-Frederic Amiel: “Life is short, and we do not have much time to gladden the hearts of those who travel with us, so be quick to love and make haste to be kind.”
Because Raher, 48, has found a way to save himself in part by serving others. This time, though, it’s not inside the wire but on the course with PGA HOPE, which transforms the lives of veterans and active-duty military through the power of golf.
The game is the through line for Raher, a former member of the golf team at San Francisco’s Sacred Heart Cathedral Preparatory. And here we must point out that something else survived the attack in Iraq: a funky, off-brand, 56-degree pitching wedge that Raher used to whack golf balls 80 yards into a wall. He doesn’t know where it came from, only that he did not deploy with it. The club now lives on a shelf in his parents’ garage in San Francisco, and although the grip is a little melted, the wedge symbolizes his enduring love for the game.
“Being blessed with so many things, and being grateful, it’s nice to reciprocate with golf,” Raher said. “It creates a lot of happiness for people who are new to the game and maybe not too sure what they’re getting involved with. That setting is real. You carry that with you and go back to that memory. It’s instant feedback, like when you hit a good golf shot – they have that unburdened smile of pure joy.”
Raher once struggled to find that joy himself. For a time, he turned to alcohol, and as he told San Francisco’s KPIX, “I was going down a dark path.” He began to regain his footing by attending an academy offering entry into the business of golf in Carlsbad, Calif. Committing to a life in the game, he registered for the PGA Associate Professional program and got his first job at Metropolitan Golf Links in Oakland. He later moved to Presidio Golf Course.
There are 28 courses in Northern California with a spring and fall PGA HOPE program, and Raher teaches at three of them: Metropolitan, Presidio and Mariners Point Golf Center. He also participated in the 2024 PGA HOPE Secretary’s Cup in Louisville, Ky., which coincided with the PGA Championship at Valhalla.
Ask others about him, and you’ll hear some version of Amiel’s word: kind. Bob Epperly, Northern California PGA HOPE lead trainer, said Raher shares a trust and special rapport with his veteran students, who know he’s one of them.
“He likes to laugh and has an easy way about him,” Epperly said, “and he gets to know the guys and gals first, before teaching the fundamentals, because that’s who he is. His love for golf rubs off on everybody else.”
It all nearly didn’t happen. Had the shrapnel entered Raher’s back a millimeter or so to one side, and had his body not started digesting food again after he lost 30 pounds while surviving on ice water and an IV drip in his hospital bed at Ft. Lewis outside Seattle, he wouldn’t have made it. “Prayer came from all directions,” his mom Christine told Catholic San Francisco in 2007.
So did luck. Raher’s brother Cassidy was the first to arrive at Ft. Lewis, and made Raher laugh so hard that he split his sutures, requiring medical attention.
“It was a blessing,” Raher said, “because I hadn’t been digesting anything. And when they went back in, they were able to find the intestinal problem and get everything working again. Thank God for modern medicine.”
He will always be acutely aware of the cost of war, and of just how lucky he was. The blast killed Sgt. Bradley Marshall, 37, of Little Rock, Ark., and Army Spc. Daniel Reyes, 24, of San Diego. Both died right next to Raher, Reyes just a year and a half after his little brother, who had also hoped to be a soldier, was hit by a car and killed while riding his bike on his 21st birthday.
Raher, who is divorced and has a son, Rowan, who lives in San Diego, has pledged to live the rest of his life in honor of his fallen friends. So has Chief Warrant Officer 3 Ret. Derek Stivers, who led the platoon.
“Coming back from a deployment even unscathed, like I’ve done five times, is rough,” Stivers said of Raher. “For him, to come all the way back and be able to swing a golf club and overcome the mental part where he’s a leader and others follow him, it’s all amazing. I’m super proud of him.”
Raher’s family members sound the same refrain. “It’s been extremely important and timely,” said his father, Tom, whose dad served in WWII. “He’s become much more loquacious in helping other veterans learn golf. He always seemed aloof and difficult to talk to; he’s come out of his shell.”
PGA HOPE’s Epperly called Raher a naturally quiet person who has transformed himself and others around him while making a life in golf. “We thought, here’s a guy who wants support and needs support,” Epperly said. “But he makes it easy. He has struggled through a lot of adversity, and I don’t think everyone would have made it through what he did.
“He’s helped countless men and women with their own struggles,” Epperly continued. “His example is what we would want for all veterans.”
In April, Raher returned to Joint Base Elmendorf-Richardson in Anchorage, Alaska, where he did his training and much of his rehab. He and other veterans planned to climb Gold Star Peak to leave fallen soldiers’ dog tags at the summit but were stopped by snow. They left the tags on the monument at base camp.
A two-time Purple Heart recipient, he called the reunion one of the most meaningful things he’s ever done. He brought son Rowan, while other veterans, like Stivers, brought their own children. “Returning there, given how close to death we were so many times,” Raher said, his voice trailing off.
The kids played tag in front of the Elmendorf-Richardson headquarters, around a marble pyramid with the names of all who sacrificed their lives. And why not? They were young and there is life in them. There’s life in their parents. And there is golf to be played by all, even men and women who know nothing of the game as they return to civilian life. Raher and PGA HOPE will be there to meet them.