Multimedia Reporting (Fred-Musser)

Jim Millikan is preparing for a battle against his friend Ryan Murphy that could last decades -- and push each man’s cunning to the limit. But though their strategies may vary, each will have only one weapon: pizza.

Millikan is the first franchisee of Murphy’s Lawrence-based company, Wheat State Pizza, and he has vowed to beat Murphy at his own game: he is determined to open more Wheat State Pizza shops than his friend. But the competition is an old game for the two men; And regardless of who claims victory, both expect to profit.

“That's all we've done our entire careers in the pizza business,” said Millikan, Wheat State’s former director of operations. “That's what's brought us along; that's what has picked us up. We've always battled each other. There's always been a friendly competition between the two of us.”

Millikan opened a Wheat State Pizza in September in Junction City. And though it is the seventh location to open, it is the first that is not owned by the company. The store is a symbol of Murphy’s new direction for Wheat State Pizza: franchising. And since announcing the opportunity, Murphy said the interest has come pouring in.

“We've had four different franchise groups look at us and they're all still very interested,” Murphy said. “One dropped out -- however, they're wanting to invest in the company.”

Franchisees have to pay $20,000 and pledge 5 percent of sales before taxes for the privilege of opening their first store -- though for subsequent locations the franchise fee falls to $10,000 and the same 5 percent of sales. After factoring in the other costs of opening the restaurant, Murphy estimates the average investment to be about $125,000.

But Millikan said the company is structured to help franchisees turn a profit right away. Sales at his Junction City store broke into the black -- after operating costs and a payment on the 5-year loan that financed the shop -- the very first month.

"We hit the ground running," Millikan said. "We made money the first month, we made money the second month, we made money this month.”

In fact, each of the Wheat State Pizza stores made a profit the first month, Murphy said, except one: the original Lawrence store. In Lawrence, the competition is fierce. There are 18 other restaurants that specialize in selling pizza, and that's not including restaurants like Milton's or Old Chicago.

The fact that Wheat State Pizza was able to survive and eventually thrive in Lawrence is a testament to the size of the niche that the company occupies, Murphy said. It's an example he uses often to tout Wheat State's competitive edge.

“This market is a perfect example of how we compete with major chains. We are sitting in a store right now that's tucked away in a corner, directly across the street from Papa John's and Pizza Hut that are very visible off of 23rd and Louisiana in Lawrence, Kansas,” Murphy said. “I use that as a marketing approach. I'm not afraid to compete with a major competitor. The biggest thing is to have really, really good quality.”

Murphy is expecting many more to jump at the opportunity to open their own Wheat State Pizzas in the next 18 months, but keeping the growth controlled is essential to maintaining quality and preserving the spirit of the company.

“In the next six months, I'd say we'll do at least two, possibly three in this area. After '07 I think we'll start reaching out and trying to tackle other markets like St. Louis, Omaha,” Murphy said.

Meanwhile, Millikan will be hard at work opening stores in Kansas. He's already looking into opening a store in Manhattan next summer, where the Kansas State University market could promise a huge number of sales. But that's just the beginning. To outdo Murphy, he'll be playing catch up. Murphy already takes the credit for opening six locations, including the original, which he opened in Lawrence in 2004.

Luckily, Millikan believes the investment is a shoe-in, and for Wheat State Pizza, there's no telling how far it might go, he said. He is clear about his own goals, however.

“Who knows what the future holds?” Millikan said. “What do I want to do personally? I want to own 20 pizza stores, at least.”

But for Murphy, the decision to franchise his company is about more than just numbers: It’s the fulfillment of a lifelong dream. Murphy opened the first store in 2004 with $40,000 of personal loans and credit card debt and a $40,000 loan his brother-in-law took out, using his house as collateral.

Less than three years since opening, Murphy has met his lifelong goal of opening a restaurant -- six times over. So he’s refocused his ambition on developing the quality of the company’s products, and putting Wheat State Pizza in the minds, and bellies, of customers nationwide.

“That's kind of my dream -- is to expand large enough to where people are familiar with the name, familiar with the quality and the taste of it. It's real simple. It doesn't matter how many stores we have,” Murphy said. “The growth will take care of itself if people hear about it and it has a good reputation.”

And in Millikan’s eyes, it is Murphy’s dedication to quality that sets Wheat State Pizza apart from its largest competitors -- even Papa John’s, which occupies a similar niche. But Millikan’s belief in the future of Murphy’s company was strong enough to bring him back to the pizza business after he had retired from the industry. He just couldn’t find a pizza outlet where he felt his talents could be fully utilized -- until Murphy called him in 2005, asking for help with his new business.

And with Millikan and Murphy renewing their old competitive streak, the sauces are flowing like never before. Even if Murphy wins the race and opens stores more quickly, Millikan is glad to be reunited with the business and an indescribable feeling that he had been craving since he left.

“Once you’ve been in the business -- it’s kind of hard to explain -- but you really never leave it. You might take a vacation for a while,” Millikan said. “But once you’ve got that pizza sauce running through your veins, you can’t get it out.”

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Ann Merkel likes to whistle to her emus. Not because they like it, but because it makes them dance.

As she approaches a pen housing about a dozen 7-month-old emus, she begins whistling erratically, and all hell breaks loose.

Some of the emus jump several feet in the air, clapping their three-toed feet together; Others stamp alternating feet, undulating their necks while stretching to their full six-foot height; others just stampede in circles, swiping their claws at the others. On their best days, Merkel said, their feathery flurry will even stay in rhythm.

“They dance really well,” she said. “They'll almost get to the time that you're whistling.”

Merkel owns Sundance Emu Ranch, a farm northeast of Lawrence where she currently raises about 50 of the birds. Emus, which are similar to ostriches, are prized for their lean, nutritious meat and a therapeutic oil that is refined from their fat.

Lately, Merkel said, the growing popularity of emu products and the stabilization of the industry has made the business really take flight.

“In the beginning it was a speculator market,” Merkel said of the mid-1990's emu-boom, adding that much of the hype has since vanished. “When the market got overloaded with breeder birds, then a lot of them went out of business because they couldn't make a quick buck.”

The emu market is now controlled by people like Merkel and a small number of entrepreneurs who specialize in refining and marketing emu products. Though Merkel said those who remain in the business have been forced to adopt a do-it-yourself attitude about retailing, there is a definite advantage to farm-direct sales.

“For most of us that are in it now we see that as a blessing in disguise,” Merkel said. “We are going straight from raising our babies clear through to our customers and we don't have a middleman — and the middleman is the one makes the profit."

It takes about 16 months from the time an emu hatches for it to be ready for processing, at which time, Merkel said, a well raised emu will make about $1,000 worth of products. Merkel has developed a loyal following of customers, and also sells her products at the Lawrence Farmer's Market.

The bulk of the revenue comes from the oil; a good emu carry about 25 to 30 pounds of fat on its body, which, after refining, makes as much as 2½ gallons of oil.

Merkel sells bottles of emu oil in five different sizes; a 1-ounce bottle costs $10, a 16-ounce bottle costs $82. Her biggest customers are burn patients, who cherish the oil for its anti-inflammatory, anti-scarring moisturizing properties. Emu oil deeply penetrates the skin and is particularly well suited to transporting medication into lower levels of skin tissue, Merkel said.

“It doesn't cure anything, but it enhances an awful lot of things,” she said. “It enhances the rejuvenation of tissues.”

But besides the oil, emus can produce a wide array of products, not the least of which is their meat. Merkel said the list of products created by emus continued to grow.

“There's one man in Oklahoma who even takes the tendon down the back of the leg and makes bow strings with them,” she said.

Emu meat, which is one of the leanest and most nutritious in the world, has even caught the attention of haute cuisine.

Sam Sieber, operations manager for Pachamama's, said the restaurant's menu, which changes monthly, generally carries an emu entrée two to three times a year. For fine dining, Sieber said, the most commonly used part of the meat is called the fan filet. As emu meat is generally a tougher meat, however, he prefers to marinate or brine the filets to tenderize them. Emu meat is quite like that of an ostrich, Sieber said, but patrons are more fond of emu filets.

Sieber suspects it's a matter of taste more psychological than culinary.

“They see the ostrich growing up in the zoo and they think, 'I don't want to eat that...,'” he said.

But unlike ostriches, Merkel said emus are quite docile, which was a major reason she chose to raise them.

“You can't even gather eggs with an ostrich by yourself, you have to have two people, because that male ostrich will kill you for an egg,” Merkel said. “The emus, they just, ah, almost have tears in their eyes. It's like, 'Oh, why? You're taking my egg again?'”

With little outside help, Merkel generally markets about 45 emus per year. After 16 months, it's hard for her not to grow fond of her dancing, cantankerous birds, but after they reach maturity, that's just the nature of the business.

“The hard part is unloading them, because then I get all weepy because I'm attached to them,” Merkel said. “I hug them all — they're all my babies. But, you know, it's not the quantity of life, it's the quality of life, and that's the main thing.”

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Researchers and nurses at the University of Kansas Medical Center treating patients via telecommunication equipment are bringing health and hope to patients even in remote locations.

Dr. Carol Smith, professor of nursing, has found that using the remote treatments, called telehealth, nurses can treat more patients faster and for a fraction of the cost of clinical visits.

But what may be the greatest boon of telehealth is nurses' ability to reach across cyberspace to help those in need, regardless of location. Faye Clements, a clinical nurse in several of Smith's studies, began using the technology in 1995.

“If they have a phone line, they can be seen,” said Clements, who provides nursing care from her home in Hutchinson. “I have patients potentially who’ll be hooked up to telehealth all through Canada and all through the United States. I have several on both coasts right now and clear up to Vancouver; and on the other side, Maine, Massachusetts.”

Clements uses a unit that exchanges her image and voice with that of her patient's over a phone line: essentially, a video phone. Through the monitor, she can see the patient, track several life signs and provide coaching to those who are dependent on health equipment.

But, trained as a diploma nurse to treat with essential hands-on care, Clements initially was skeptical about being so detached from her patients.

“I thought, There is no way I can convey that same sense of caring through a video unit,” Clements said. “However, over the years I have been able to establish a rapport with patients never having met them face to face, but still be able to develop the trust relationship between nurse and patient that is very important to their feeling safe. So it can be done.”

Currently, telehealth is most useful for those who depend on home equipment to ensure their health. One of Smith's studies focused on sleep apnea patients, a group who typically have trouble adhering to their treatments, which often requires complex respiratory equipment to be worn at night.

Sleep apnea patients having problems with the equipment sometimes abandon the treatment altogether. But in Smith's study, nurses met patients via telehealth for short 15-minute visits to help them set up the equipment and make sure patients weren't having problems. The study population showed an 88 percent improvement to treatment adherence, at less than one-third the cost of walk-in visits.

Emily Dauz, Shelbyville, Ill., graduate student, who is a researcher in Smith's studies, said that while there is no doubt many patients can benefit from telehealth, another study has exposed another potential for telehealth.

“Basically, it’s focusing on the caregiver, not on the patient, which is different,” Dauz said.

Many who care for family members in the home suffer from stress and depression, Dauz said, because they sometimes lack the peace of mind that they are treating their loved one correctly. Through telehealth, that frightening ambiguity can be reduced by coaching caregivers through the treatments and teaching them to take “power naps.”

Dauz said that Smith has a knack for finding new applications for telehealth, and that with each study, the horizon of possible applications expands.

“Telehealth is a great technology and definitely it’s a trend of the future to have it in someone’s home,” Dauz said.

Particularly if hospitalization trends continue as they have in the past, Clements said.

“I tell ya — people are going home from the hospital very, very ill these days,” Clements said. “And the caregivers are expected these days to provide the care that would have kept the patients in the hospital.”

But in the meantime, telehealth continues to provide hope to those who feel alone or disconnected from their health care. Smith's studies have proven telehealth's efficacy, and Clement has proven its practicality: good health is only a phone call away.

“At the end of all conversations we say, 'See ya later,' and they always get it,” Clements said. “Because they will.”

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