You Don’t Look Jewish

By Marc Liebman, Captain (USN retired)

In June 1968, I arrived in Pensacola to begin flight training late on a Friday night to save two days of leave. Officially, I didn’t have to check in to Pre-Flight until Sunday evening. I wanted to get some beach time and relax. Pre-Flight was, at the time, the first step to becoming a Naval Aviator, which began Monday.

Completing Pre-Flight with decent grades was the next step to a set of Naval Aviator wings. Already, I had earned a college degree, was commissioned as an Ensign in the United States Navy, passed the flight physical and the mental tests to qualify for flight training, and in my hot little hands was a set of orders designating me a Student Naval Aviator.

I had been dreaming of becoming a military aviator or pilot since I was a little boy building plastic, rubber band powered, and ultimately gas engine, radio control model airplanes. My father was a career Air Force pilot, and I chose the Navy because it guaranteed me pilot training. The Air Force would only say that after I was commissioned, the Air Force would decide what career path would be.

The Bachelor Officer Quarters (BOQs) at Naval Air Station Pensacola assigned officers to suites. There was a bedroom and bathroom on either side of a common area with a small kitchen, living area, and a table and two chairs. When you checked in, you were assigned a room and didn’t have a choice as to who lived in the bedroom on the other side of the common area.

On Saturday morning, I went into the common area to pour a glass of orange juice from a bottle I bought at my last gas stop in Evergreen, AL. There, I found my “suite mate” paging through Corvette and Camaro brochures.

After usual introductions, he said, “I’m going to the Chevy dealer to Jew them down on the price for a 1967 Corvette hardtop.”

For those who don’t know, back then, Corvettes, Mustangs, Camaros, GTOs, etc., were known as “Ensign Mobiles.” Car dealers made a good living selling fast cars to future Naval Aviators.

I didn’t react but asked what the dealer was asking and how much a discount he wanted. My suitemate said, “I need to Jew him down by at least $500.”

Back then, you’d pay about $3,500 to $3,800 to drive a low-mileage 1967 Corvette with a 350 hp, 327 cubic inch engine and a four-speed off the dealer’s lot. Several times during the ensuing conversation, he used the words, “Jew the dealer down.” Finally, I asked if he would stop because I found it offensive since I was Jewish.

He looked at me quizzically and said, “You don’t look Jewish.”

“What am I supposed to look like?”

My suitemate then described Fagin – thick glasses, long pointed nose, skull cap, long hair, and beard – from Charles Dickens’s novel Oliver Twist. He was from Tupelo, MS, and had never met a Jew before. We talked for a few more minutes, and then he asked, “Would I help him negotiate a better deal?” I was stunned because I knew nothing about new or used Corvettes? Here’s the footnote to the story. My suitemate flunked out of pre-flight and was released from active duty with a year-old Corvette and no job.

© Marc Liebman, March 2025

Marc Liebman is a combat veteran of Vietnam, the Tanker Wars of the 1980s and Desert Shield/Storm who retired from the Navy as a Captain after 26 years of service. He is a Naval Aviator with over 6,000 hours of flight time in helicopters and fixed wing aircraft and has been the CEO of a $50M aerospace and defense contractor as well as a partner in a boutique consulting firm. Now Marc is an award-winning novelist and public speaker. Six of his 18 novels have become Amazon #1 Best Sellers. Marc speaks on American history from the American Revolution to the War of 1812 as well as selected topics on aviation foreign affairs, anti-Semitism, and leadership. The Liebmans live in Aubrey, TX.