Jonathan Beecher was born in Chiswick, London, in 1956, and left his formal education four months after his fifteenth birthday. After some blue-collar jobs—real work—and a stint selling clothes, he stumbled into the music business, co-founding a publicly quoted entertainment company and an independent record company, and spent three decades in what gonzo journalist Hunter S. Thompson called the TV industry’s “long plastic hallway.”
Then a fall and head injury in 2000 changed everything.
For no apparent reason, he began talking about death, telling anyone who asked that there is no death. Friends thought he’d found God; he said he wasn’t looking for God, but perhaps God had found him. That led him to found White Crow Books, a one-man publishing enterprise chasing psychologist William James’s “white crow”—the anomaly that overturns assumptions about reality.
He says he never set out to write about Jesus or the afterlife—Jesus wasn’t on his radar—but the yearning wouldn’t leave him alone. Now he’s in a different hallway, one less chaotic and far more interesting.
