AUTHOR’S NOTE: This piece – my first attempt at longform journalism – required quite the undertaking on my part. Capturing the history and ethos of this space while incorporating all of the various voices that helped shape it was no easy feat. I did not undertake this task alone, however, and I’d like to take this time to thank the individuals who helped make this story a reality.

Thank you to Elliot Gagné, Maddie Rehayem and Gabe Kuhlman for allowing me to use their photos in this piece, to Isabel Skidmore for making the collage of fliers and the animated dingbat sprites, and thank you to everyone who shared their stories and experiences with me via interviews, Facebook messages and emails.

And finally: thank you to the Dingbat Dungeon, for teaching me how to love punk.

Tucked away in the quiet streets of Urbana lies a house known to many as the Dingbat Dungeon. Since 2012, the house has acted as ground zero for Urbana’s DIY community, its basement playing host to all-ages shows organized by its residents. While its name, residents and crowd of showgoers have changed over the years, the sense of community surrounding the house has remained the same.

Last night, the Dingbat Dungeon put on its final show. While the house itself may soon be used again for shows by its next tenants, last night’s farewell show saw the end of an era as longtime resident Gabe Kuhlman said goodbye to the house he’s called home all of these years.

The Dingbat Dungeon originally got its start under the name Shangri-La in 2012. Among the original residents of the house was John Menchaca. Many of the Shangri-La’s first tenants had previously lived at the Dude Ranch, including Menchaca himself.

Despite the memorable shows that happened at the Dude Ranch, the house itself wasn’t in the best shape to host loud, rowdy rock shows.

“That place ruled as a house, but sucked as a house venue,” Menchaca said. “We did shows in our carpeted living room, as the basement was too small and was also a bedroom, so whenever it rained or snowed we made people take off their shoes, and it was unbearably hot sometimes because we couldn’t open windows during bands’ sets.”

The Dude Ranch stopped hosting shows after the house’s living room floor began to collapse following a particularly crazy show. Several of the residents then migrated to the Urbana house that Menchaca named Shangri-La.

“A good bulk of us decided to find a cheaper place where we could still do the occasional show,” said Menchaca. “With this new place we wanted a house where we could do shows, but not necessarily all the time. Shout outs to the O.G cast of characters that lived at Shangri-La: J. Hartley, Gabe K., Nathan, Chloe and Roy Bell.”

Shangri-La’s first show took place on September 7, 2012 and featured hardcore acts Salvation, Cadaver Dog, Negative Degree, Civilized and Need (the only local band on the bill).

Reflecting on the house’s first show, Menchaca said that it was a “ridiculous” night that helped establish Shangri-La as the next JFK House or Dan Ackroyd’s House: a space for all-ages shows where people could enjoy local music, party and let loose. The first show also holds a personal significance for Menchaca, as he now plays in both Civilized and Cadaver Dog.

“Without that show, I don’t know where I would have ended up,” he said.

For Menchaca, booking shows at the house meant being able to play an active role in the development of the local punk scene. Menchaca said that the intention of the house wasn’t necessarily to build a community, but was rather a way to create the change he and his fellow housemates wanted to see in the local scene.

“Champaign-Urbana was really turned onto this awful (in my opinion) brand of punk when I first moved there,” said Menchaca. “I wasn’t into it, so a group of like-minded friends and I did our own thing. It took years and countless amounts of bands starting and breaking up, but eventually people got into it.”

Menchaca left the house in 2013 after completing his undergrad and moved to Denver, where he currently resides. Around that time, some of the other residents in the house also left, but Gabe Kuhlman and Roy Bell decided to stay for a second year and continued to put on shows. Starting in September 2013, the house was briefly known as Cherry Garcia’s Middle Finger, but by December of that year, the name Dingbat Dungeon finally stuck.

Kuhlman – who was never a fan of the name Shangri-La – said that there wasn’t a particular reason why the name Dingbat Dungeon stuck.

“My friend Charlie was really into calling me a dingbat that summer, and the name came out of a solid brainstorming session,” he said. “It just had good alliteration. It definitely stuck.”

As one of the original roommates, Kuhlman has been at the house since the very beginning, and Menchaca said that Kuhlman is the key to the space’s long-term success.

“I think Gabe is definitely the most vital person to the equation,” said Menchaca. “He has remained essentially the constant variable and he’s the person who has probably booked the most shows there.”

Kuhlman recalled the first show he ever ran by himself at the house in September 2013. The show was with Total Trash, Big Zit, Laughboy and Chain’s Gang.

“Not that many people showed up and I only ended up taking like, $60 at the door,” he said. “The touring bands were pretty pissed. I felt really bad, and I almost stopped doing shows after that.”

Kuhlman didn’t stop putting on shows after that, though. The venue continued to host at least one show a month up until December 2015, when things began to slow down for the house.

Kuhlman cited the Springfield scene at being an important force in the development of the space from the very beginning. For most shows, one or more Springfield bands often had a spot on the lineup and Kuhlman could always count on car-fulls of Springfield kids to come pouring into the basement come show time.

Kuhlman recalled one particular instance when he was sitting on the roof before a show and saw a van full of Springfield kids roll up to the house.

“Brian [Galecki] came out in a king outfit – with a cape and a crown – and climbed onto the roof, like, sprinted to the top,” he laughed.

When booking shows at the house, Kuhlman sought to strike a medium between big scenes in cities like Chicago and smaller scenes in college towns like C-U. After experiencing Chicago’s vibrant DIY scene, Kuhlman wanted to recreate that environment here while still promoting a close-knit environment. Looking back, Kuhlman feels like he succeeded.

“I think the shows here feel more like family events, and that’s unique,” he said. “Most of the time I felt like everyone in the house was my friend and that made every show special. It’s why people here can dance, meet others and feel comfortable. I don’t think people experience the same thing in bigger cities with larger and less personal scenes.”

Even if the original residents of Shangri-La never specifically set out to create a long-lasting community, that’s exactly what they did, and the fact that Dingbat is still putting on shows in 2016 speaks to that. Shangri-La a.k.a Cherry Garcia’s Middle Finger a.k.a the Dingbat Dungeon defied everyone’s expectations – including Menchaca’s.

“If you told me that people would be throwing shows in 2016 when we first moved into that house August of 2012, I wouldn’t have believed you.”

A week before the space’s last show, Kuhlman was ready for closure – but he wasn’t quite ready to say goodbye.

“I’ll probably cry,” he said, flipping through a photo album filled with grainy memories of shows gone by.

When asked to clarify whether he would cry during or after the show, he laughed: “both, probably.”

Kuhlman is, as he puts it himself, “the last Dingbat.” Ever since his friend, roommate and bandmate Luke Strom moved out of the house this past summer (he, like Menchaca, also left the house to move to the Denver area), Kuhlman said that he felt he, too, would soon move on, and last night’s final show at the space was his way of doing so.

Strom moved into the house in August 2014, having played at the space several times before when he was in the band Wolf Luv.

“When Gabe and John [Menchaca] and the others moved into the place late 2012, I started hanging around,” said Strom. “I wanted to live there because rent was really cheap – and, since I was already going to all the shows there that I could, it was convenient that I could walk down the stairs to the gigs instead of down the street.”

During their time at the house, Kuhlman and Strom started a house band, The Dingbats, with Claire Everett and Brandon Rosa. As house band, The Dingbats opened numerous shows at the space; their fun, messy brand of punk often resulting in Kuhlman rolling on the floor barking like a dog into the P.A.

Rosa, who currently plays in the band Copper Blue, actually lived in the basement of the Dingbat Dungeon when he first moved into the house.

“I was living in Portland, Oregon in 2013 and I was going through a rough time,” Rosa said. “I was talking to my friend Gabe, though, and he told me that I could move into his basement. My lease was up the next month so I got a U-Haul and drove all of my stuff back and lived in the basement for about six months until a room upstairs opened up.”

In those six months spent in the Dingbat basement, Rosa had to break down his bedroom and put it into the corner of the basement during shows. Although he worried about strangers going through his stuff, nothing was ever stolen.

Perhaps this speaks to the sense of community surrounding the space; Kuhlman and Strom both said that they never had to make many efforts to create a safe and respectable environment at shows because many showgoers were already invested in keeping shows safe.

“Those who showed up mostly behaved themselves — we only had to throw anyone out a few times,” said Strom.

Kathleen Norman, a longtime regular at Dingbat, recalled a time when someone was thrown out of a show for inappropriate behavior.

“Someone was really wasted and basically walked over to me and grabbed my boob,” Norman said. “After I knocked him over, Gabe and I carried him out and literally kicked him out on the seat of his pants. Nobody knew who he was! But there was another show going on nearby where we think he came from. That was a totally one-off thing and was handled perfectly.”

Although Norman longer lives in the area, the space still holds a special significance to them.

“The Dingbat Dungeon was really important to me as a freshly sober person,” said Norman. “Even though there were substances abound in Urbana, let alone a show space, I still felt really comfortable being sober there. The focus was always on the music and not on getting wasted like it is at bars. Punk and the Dingbat Dungeon definitely made my recovery happen.”

While the Dingbat Dungeon has never been a substance-free space, its shows were usually far from being “party” shows. Showgoer Nick Keeling said that the space always put the music first.

“Dingbat was an essential house that encouraged creativity, inclusiveness, and DIY ethics in general,” said Keeling. “It was the antithesis of a general keg n’ show party that other house shows were.”

Abby Dace of Dry Heave met Norman – one of her best friends and bandmate in Toad Omen – at the space. Her band Dry Heave also played their first ever show there last fall.

“Every single memory I have is full of happiness and hopefulness and a sense of finally feeling like I’ve been accepted somewhere,” said Dace. “The Dungeon and the people involved with it made me feel like I had a place I truly belong. I can truly and 100% honestly say that I do not know where I would be today without the Dingbat Dungeon.”

Last night’s show was truly a reflection of the space’s history, its lineup capturing all of the forces that went into making it special. PRYSS, a Springfield band, represents the enduring support from the Springfield scene. Dry Heave represents the dozens of local bands who got their start there. Wolf Luv, according to Kuhlman, have played more shows at the space than any other band (excluding house band The Dingbats). 86 Gemini, a band from from Chicago, represents the strong connection between Chicago and C-U and the influence the Chicago scene had on Kuhlman. Finally, Bugg is one of Kuhlman’s favorite contemporary bands – representative of Kuhlman’s mark on the space and its community.

Prior to last night’s show, Kuhlman looked forward to going out with a bang and spending one last night with friends, saying that he’s never happier than he is after a show at the Dungeon.

“I used to sit around after shows and Gabe would be leaning against the wall, or hanging onto the ceiling rafters, or maybe seated on the washing machine,” said Norman. “He would say ‘wow, this is so cool. I didn’t ever think it would be like this. This is so awesome’ with a big smile on his face.”

Last night, Kuhlman turned off the PA for the last time.

Like so many night before it, the space’s final show saw a caravan of Springfield punks pour into the basement. Friends from all over made their way back to the space one last time. Among them was Strom, who came all the way from Denver to spend one last night at the Dungeon.

By the end of 86 Gemini’s set, Kuhlman and Strom were both sitting side by side in the bathroom, Rosa and Everett tending to their fresh wounds. Strom pogoed too high and hit his head on the ceiling, while Kuhlman was unsure of who dealt him the blow to his now-bleeding nose.

“It’s not my first rodeo,” howled Kuhlman as he stepped out of the bathroom, dried blood sticking to his face.

Strom and Kuhlman didn’t let their injuries stop them from making the most of their last night. Following Wolf Luv’s wild set, Kuhlman took hold of the microphone to announce “the reunion nobody asked for:” the return of The Dingbats.

“You thought we were bad before?” Kuhlman laughed into the PA (which was as unreliable as ever). “This is after we haven’t practiced in a year, and half of the band have concussions.”

Before ripping into one last messy, high-energy set, Kuhlman gave one last thank you to the crowd.

“This could have been any basement, but it was special because every single person here came out to shows,” he said. “I first came down here for school, but this is way more important than anything I did there.”

And with that, the Dingbats played their last set.

As their last song came to a close, Kuhlman stood still in front of the crowd. Prolonged applause rang out – not just for the Dingbats, but for so much more: for Kuhlman, the “last Dingbat standing,” who among so many others made magic happen in that basement every month, and for the Dingbat Dungeon – the space so many call home.

Bye, Bye, Batty!