Shiny, sanitary and serene are Childs' restaurants, home of white table tops, of gleaming nickel, of starched waitresses. In the windows, immaculate young ladies flip purest batter-cakes to the attraction, the invitation, of passersby. Old or new Childs' restaurants are superficially models of efficiency, of smoothness, of business divorced from friction.
But in Childs' executive office is war, with hard feeling, recrimination and bitter, bitter words. Last week came upheaval, with casualties of one president, one secretary, one legal counsel, one Executive Committee. In their places came a new...
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