They Called It SUICIDE — Bumpy Johnson Touched Her Neck and 400 People Saw the ROPE BURNS

September 8, 1948. It was a warm Wednesday night when Sadi May Washington, the beloved nurse and community pillar of Harlem, walked home from her shift at Harlem Hospital. She had just worked a 14-hour shift, an exhausting double because another nurse had called in sick. Tired but content, she made her way through the streets of Harlem, unaware that what should have been the end of a long day was about to become the end of her life.

Two blocks from her apartment on 141st Street, three white men in a blue Buick with Connecticut plates pulled up beside her. In seconds, they had grabbed her, dragged her into the car, and sped off into the night. Sadi’s scream cut through the air—loud, piercing—but quickly disappeared as the car sped away, leaving only echoes and confusion in the quiet streets.

As her captors fled the scene, Mrs. Ella Brooks, an elderly woman who had lived in Harlem for decades, witnessed the entire abduction from her apartment window. She was no stranger to the dark realities of the neighborhood, where police corruption ran rampant, and the idea of justice was often more of a fantasy than a promise.

But this was different. This was a woman she had known, a woman who had spent her life helping others, and now she was being taken away. Mrs. Brooks knew something was terribly wrong. However, as she watched the blue Buick drive off, she hesitated. She knew the police wouldn’t help. They never did. If she called them, they would ask questions, take notes, and then promptly do nothing.

The Shocking Discovery

Mrs. Brooks didn’t go to the police. Instead, she did something far bolder: she wrote down the details of the car, the license plate, and the time of the abduction. She slipped the note into her Bible, intending to keep it safe until she could figure out what to do next.

The next morning, Sadi didn’t show up for work. She was a dedicated nurse, a woman who had never been late. Alarm bells rang in her community, but it wasn’t until later that the tragic truth came to light.

At 7:00 a.m., the building superintendent, Mr. Lewis, went to check on Sadi. He unlocked her door and found her lying face down in the bedroom. At first glance, it appeared as if she had died of a heart attack. There was no sign of struggle, and the apartment looked neat, but something felt wrong. The police arrived, and immediately, Detective Patrick Donnelly and Officer James Murphy took charge of the investigation.

Despite the obvious signs of foul play—rope burns, cigarette marks, defensive wounds on her hands—the police wrote it off as a natural death, a heart attack. The cover-up was quick, efficient, and deadly. But what no one anticipated was that Bumpy Johnson, the feared and respected Harlem crime boss, would become an unlikely champion of justice.

The Revelation at the Funeral

Sadi’s funeral took place on Sunday, September 12th, 1948 at Mount Olivet Baptist Church. Over 400 people packed into the church, grieving the loss of a woman who had saved lives, who had brought children into the world, and who had been a constant source of support to the Harlem community.

During the service, something unthinkable happened. As Bumpy Johnson sat quietly in the second row, listening to the eulogy, his eyes were drawn to the casket. Sadi, dressed in a white lace dress, looked peaceful, almost serene. But Bumpy—having seen countless bodies in his line of work—noticed something strange. The makeup on her neck was thick, too thick for a simple heart attack victim.

Without saying a word, Bumpy stood and made his way to the casket. As he leaned in closer, he gently touched the makeup covering Sadi’s neck. His fingers came away with thick theatrical makeup—stage makeup, used to conceal something far darker.

His suspicions were confirmed: rope burns—deep, purple, and black—circled Sadi’s throat like a necklace of violence. The truth was clear to him: Sadi May Washington had been murdered.

Bumpy’s Call for Justice

As Bumpy stood over the casket, the shock rippled through the church. 400 people, stunned, watched in silence as Bumpy demanded answers. He turned to the funeral director, Raymond Carter, and asked, “Why is there so much makeup on her neck?”

Carter’s face went white, and his hands started shaking. He stammered out an excuse, but Bumpy wasn’t buying it. This was no accident, and Bumpy was determined to find out who was responsible.

In the next 96 hours, Bumpy Johnson would kill three men, force six NYPD officers to resign, and uncover a web of corruption that would change Harlem forever.

But before he could act, Bumpy needed to gather information. Mrs. Ella Brooks, the elderly woman who had witnessed the abduction, had already set the wheels of justice in motion. She had written down the license plate number of the car that took Sadi away. This simple, anonymous note would change everything.

The Investigation Begins

Bumpy wasted no time. He gathered his trusted men and began working on the leads. He learned that the car, a blue Buick with Connecticut plates, was registered to Vincent Maronei, a notorious loan shark and enforcer from New Haven, Connecticut.

Maronei had been hunting Marcus Washington, Sadi’s brother, who owed him over $2,000 after borrowing money and failing to pay it back. Maronei’s men had found Sadi instead, and what followed was an execution, staged to look like a heart attack.

Bumpy didn’t waste time with the law. He made it clear that justice would be served on his terms. He began making calls to his network, speaking with Joey Numbers Catalano, an information broker who knew every cop and every criminal in New York and Connecticut. The investigation moved quickly. By Saturday evening, Bumpy knew everything.

Vincent Maronei, Tommy Reachi, and Frank Calibrace were the men responsible. They had taken Sadi, tortured her for information she didn’t have, and then murdered her. They thought they could get away with it by paying off corrupt police officers.

But Bumpy was done waiting.

The Reckoning

At 12:45 a.m. on Sunday, Bumpy’s men raided Maronei’s house in the Bronx. Inside, they found Maronei, Reachi, and Calibrace. Bumpy entered the house, stone-faced, and placed a photograph of Sadi in front of them.

He asked them to explain their actions—how they had abducted her, tortured her, and killed her. Maronei tried to plead for mercy, claiming it was an accident. But Bumpy wasn’t buying it.

He demanded they write confessions, detailing every aspect of the murder. He threatened them with fire, using a gas can to remind them of what would happen if they didn’t comply.

They wrote.

And then, Bumpy gave them the final punishment.

At 3:30 a.m., in an abandoned warehouse near the East River, Maronei, Reachi, and Calibrace were tied to chairs and drowned.

Sadi’s murder had been avenged.

The Cover-Up Unravels

Bumpy’s actions didn’t just stop with the killers. He targeted the corrupt police officers who had covered up Sadi’s death. Detective Patrick Donnelly, who had falsified the death report, was arrested and forced to resign. Five other officers were implicated in the cover-up and lost their jobs.

The medical examiner, Dr. Leonard Ashford, and his assistant, Dr. Philip Hartman, were also exposed for their role in not performing a full autopsy. They were held accountable for their negligence.

The cover-up had been torn apart, and justice was delivered.

The Funeral of Sadi May Washington

On September 12th, Sadi May Washington’s second funeral was held at Mount Olivet Baptist Church. This time, there were no lies—only the truth.

More than 800 people attended the funeral, lining the streets of Harlem. The casket was open. No heavy makeup covered Sadi’s face. She was simply beautiful. Gone too soon.

Reverend Adam Clayton Powell Jr. spoke at the pulpit:

“Sadi May Washington was murdered. She was kidnapped, tortured, and killed. She was a nurse. A healer. An angel of Harlem. And for six days, powerful men tried to hide that truth.”

The crowd erupted in rage and grief, but also in recognition—justice had been served. Sadi’s name would never be forgotten.

Bumpy’s Legacy

For Bumpy Johnson, it wasn’t about the notoriety or the praise. It was about family—and justice.

Sadi May Washington had saved his life when she was just eight years old. She had stitched him up, hidden him when the world turned against him, and cared for him as if he were her own family. To Bumpy, this wasn’t just revenge. It was a debt paid to someone who had given him the gift of life.

Sadi’s death and the investigation that followed shook Harlem to its core. It was a reminder that in a world full of corruption, there were still people like Bumpy Johnson willing to make sure justice was served—even if it meant making sure the truth was never buried.

For Harlem, and for Bumpy, justice was more than just a word—it was something you fought for, something you died for, and something you never let go.

The story of Sadi May Washington was not forgotten. Her death changed Harlem forever, and it made sure the men who took her life would never be forgotten either.