Tomatoestried to Kill mebut Banjos Saved My Life showAn Award Winning, Inspirational True Story
Since its humble beginnings as a six-show experiment, Tomatoes Tried to Kill Me But Banjos Saved My Life has grown into a powerful force for good, raising money for important causes and touching countless lives. Keith's Italian-American heritage and his unique life journey make his story all the more relatable and inspiring, and his message of hope and resilience is one that resonates with people from all walks of life.
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Yesterday I was sharing about going through an overnight sleep apnea test and how the lack of locks on the doors and having someone watch me all night, would have been impossible years ago. I was reminded of my first colonoscopy about 40 years ago, where I insisted on hugging a book throughout the procedure. Through many years of counseling, particularly with the spiritual aspect of the Immanuel Approach developed by psychiatrist, Dr. Karl Lehman, I am now able to do many things with peace and joy, that I formerly couldn't do, as a survivor of childhood incest. Over many years, I also found comfort by singing in choirs and playing the piano with groups. Now I am very glad for Adaptable Outdoors that helps me enjoy fishing and kayaking since I have become disabled. Thank you, Keith, for your play which I saw at Rosebud a few years ago. I hope to see it again and share the experience with friends.
I remember my dad playing the banjo. He wasn’t a professional musician, but played at home and at Bluegrass festivals. That sound carried with it laughter, comfort, and a sense of home.
2017 was a strange, heavy year. Dad died in the spring, and by the autumn, I had my own battle to face—breast cancer. Everything felt emptier, quieter. The banjo was gone, and with it, the soundtrack of my childhood.
This summer, I went to the Fringe and saw Keith perform. His music caught me completely off guard. There I was, surrounded by laughter and the hum of the crowd, and suddenly—I was back at home with Dad playing the banjo. I cried, overcome with a wave of grief, love, and memory. It was one of those moments when the past and present collide, where joy and sorrow sit side by side.
I cried, not just for the loss, but for the continuity—the way music can reach across time, touch a part of us that nothing else can, and remind us of those we’ve lost. That day, Keith’s music wasn’t just a performance. It was a bridge. It was Dad playing again, if only for a moment, in the room of my heart.