There was a Phillip Lighthouse, but he didn’t invent anything nor hold any patents. He just had a dog named Basil.
Basil was unique in that he had an extra toe on his right fore-paw. This gave him the singular ability to give people the dog version of the finger.
Which he did, quite often. Until, in October of 1734, a hessian mercenary took exception to the hound’s rudeness and pushed a bayonet through his chest.
Phillip, overcome with grief, took the limp carcass of his beloved Basil to North Umberlind pet cemetery to be interred in a plot already bought by the forward thinking Master Lighthouse, some years earlier, just after a fortunate series of gambling wins. Only to find that, due to a record keeping error, the plot was already occupied by a poodle named Mitzy.
Phillip Lighthouse and Basil’s ever-gamier carcass wandered across much of the east coast for the next ten years or so.
Many of the legends people tell of The strange man with the stinky sack are actually based on sightings of Phillip and his unusual companion.
Even now, it is said, that on a clear night when the moon is full, if you sit very still and listen carefully, you can hear the rustling sound of a sad man dragging something through the woods. And repeating over and over again a strange phrase.