The Hungarian master walked solemnly over to the cowering 13-year-old, laid his heavy hand Lurch-like on the boy's shoulder and roared in his thick Central European accent, "Son, are you a fighter?"

The boy, Gene Vastola, has proved himself to be a fighter.

But this year's fencing captain is not merely the athletic stereotype of a fighter. He does not just "give it all he's got," and squeeze every last drop of mindless, animalistic energy from his body. Gene Vastola is far more subtle than that. His sport, "physical chess," as he calls it, requires that he be far more subtle than that.

Vastola has a temperament that seems perfectly suited to fencing. Self-assured, with a calm exterior that hides a fiercely competitive interior, he possesses both the poise and the intensity which are necessary ingredients of success in this demanding sport.

Vastola, now a senior, has a fencing heritage that has schooled him well for both the physical and mental aspects of fencing. Instructed from 13 to 18 by his Hungarian mentor, Vastola was an integral part of the New York fencing dynasty at Stuyvesant High School. In just his sophomore year, Vastola won the individual New York high school fencing championship, out-maneuvering his own captain in the final.

Vastola switched mentors after coming to Harvard. In the careful hands of Yugoslavian-born coach Branimir Zivkovic, after faltering somewhat as a sophomore and junior, he has continued to develop. He admits that "until this year it's been an uphill struggle, a battle to maintain consistency." This year Vastola has been virtually unbeatable.

His record in all dual meets is 26-4 and his 13-2 Ivy League performance has secured him the number one spot on the first team all-Ivy foil squad.

Attribute much of Vastola's success to what goes on inside his head. Emphasizing that "strategy is the most important part of competition once you master a certain element of physical dexterity," Vastola employs an arsenal of different tactical approaches that ensure weapons superiority on the strip.

Vastola carefully adapts his game to his opponent. Last year, former Crimson captain and sabre fencer John Chipman--a lightning quick and superbly skilled attacker--repeatedly lost to fencers infinitely inferior to him. Typically, Chipman would utilize four or five feints on opponents who couldn't even see, never mind be deceived by them. They would poke their points forward in fearful reflex and touch Chipman's mask or torso.

Vastola does not make such mental errors. "You have to be able to gauge your opponent when you step on the strip, probe him. You have to tailor your fencing to what you need to beat him," he says. Simple, well-executed attacks are often the most appropriate, Vastola says.

"Three years ago at a Martini and Rossi international competition in New York I came up against the world champion and 1976 Olympic gold medalist, Frenchman Christian Noel. I was expecting to be razzle-dazzled but he fenced very simply. His execution of basic moves was perfect. In the finals he was doing the same things, very basic, simple attacks that were very cleverly set up."

Vastola also uses a variety of psychological ploys to gain the upper hand over his opponent. At the beginning of each bout etiquette dictates that each fencer salute the director (referee) and his opponent with his blade. Vastola says "when I salute my opponent I give him a long, hard stare. It doesn't have to be too menacing and malicious although sometimes that helps too. You maintain eye contact. I remember earlier in the year against North Carolina seeing my opponent nervously avert my stare. That boosts my confidence and drains his."

Vastola also tries to coax his opponents into reacting to his actions rather than calmly designing their own. "When you're aggressive, beating the blade hard, making strong provocations--getting him to react you can then go through his defense like you were carving a cake of butter."

Vastola's psychological and tactical maneuvers are not only directed at his opponents. They are also aimed at the director. Unlike many fencers Vastola never loses his self-control on the strip. As others fuss, fume and fluster Vastola hides his frustration with dubious calls and uses gentle persuasion to try and get the director thinking "the right way."

"The director will never change a call," Vastola says. "If you argue coolly, and sparingly, he may say to himself, 'maybe I did make a mistake.' Psychologically, he may give you a touch. If you bark at him too loudly and too often, that'll only harden his resolve to screw you."