What happened to Phi Delta Theta?

Where is the fire? The smart-mouthed attorney? The defiant "United We Stand" banner?

In an abrupt turnaround this summer, the embattled fraternity's board of directors appears to be moving towards selling the century-old property. This comes after more than a year of fighting to prevent that very sale, fighting that got very dirty.

The residents have bulldozed through zoning disputes, intervention from the national fraternity, even an electrical fire. Throughout the ordeal, the brothers of Phi Delta Theta -- or is it The Phi Society? -- or is it Tau Delta Phi? -- remained steadfast in one regard: They're not leaving.

Whoops, now they are. And by listening to former president Kevin Haslam, they're not too disappointed. "We finally found a light at the end of the tunnel," he told The Daily Collegian.

A year ago, fraternity lawyers made it sound like the only light they were looking for was Old Main's fiery explosion. They accused Penn State's president of seeking to buy the property to construct the Graham Spanier Building, saying Spanier had "unclean hands and indeed arms and torso" in the matter.

They then built a case around a legal technicality, brandishing the, "Rule Against Perpetuities," an arcane law that Pennsylvania essentially abolished in 2006, as if it were the staff of Moses. They also threw in the, "Doctrine of Latches," for good measure, asserting that if Penn State had wanted the property, it should have laid claim much earlier.

Penn State fought back. Fraternity lawyers say the university sent letters directly to the parents of fraternity members, informing them that their sons would be thrown out on the street. Because of this, 28 members walked away from their leases, they said.

The university then pressured State College borough to declare the property a rooming house, complicating matters for the fraternity in their own legal suit with the university.

Foiled again, Penn State: The residents allied themselves with national fraternity Tau Delta Phi, sidestepping the zoning issue. Last time I checked, the fraternity's lawyers were sending out Penn State trivia questionnaires, asking Spanier if he knows when General James A. Beaver died.

Then it all stopped.

What's happened? Hard to say. But by some accounts, it appears the fraternity's membership is reigning in their leadership, which has steadfastly supported the brothers' right to stay in the house. The alumni are putting it to a vote, and directors expect their answer will turn the ship around.

Maybe alumni have tired of fighting for what seems like a lost cause, especially when there's a different fraternity's name attached to it.

Perhaps it's the money. A prolonged legal battle isn't cheap, especially when your lawyers charge by the insult.

Or maybe the current residents decided that they were sick of the drafty old place anyways.

Whatever the reason, it brings to a close a unique chapter of Penn State history -- when frat boys were fraternity men, house parties had a special meaning and students stood up for what they believed.

Yes, the fraternity brothers were headstrong. But they had the university community's respect.

Enjoy your Graham Spanier Building, Phi Delta Theta.