His name is Dunn

O'Ryan left Ireland to try his luck in the U.S. Getting on the ship he was stopped by an old woman. "I have a son in America," she said. "He lives in a little white house in Connecticut. I haven't heard from him in fifteen years. If you happen to meet him, please tell him to write to his poor old mother. His name is Dunn."

O'Ryan landed in New York. After a few months he took the bus up to Connecticut and told the driver, "Let me off at the little white house."

Thinking his passenger needed to relieve himself, the driver dropped him off at a park. O'Ryan spotted the attendant. "Could you be tellin' me where to find the little white house?"

Certain he meant the men's room, the attendant said, "Go straight down this lane and turn left." Thrilled that at last he'd find Dunn, O'Ryan followed the directions. Just as he got to the little white house, a man came out zipping his fly.

"You Dunn?" asked O'Ryan.

"Yeah," said the man.

"Then why don't you write to your poor old mother in Ireland?!"

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