Jase Keys v. Richard Claybaugh

Let’s be honest: most hit-and-runs are cowardly. But this one? This one is epic in its audacity. A commercial truck driver doesn’t just clip a pedestrian—he runs over him, then floors it like he’s in a bad action movie, leaving the victim lying in the street like discarded roadkill. And not just any truck: a hulking 2011 Freightliner MT55, the kind of vehicle you’d expect to see hauling industrial equipment, not mowing down people on sidewalks. This isn’t a fender bender. This is a full-contact collision with a semi, followed by a getaway. And now, in Tulsa County, the man who got flattened—Jase Keys—is suing not just the driver, but the company that let this guy behind the wheel in the first place.

So who are these people? On one side, we’ve got Jase Keys, a resident of Hughes County, Oklahoma, who—before March 13, 2024—was presumably just another guy trying to get through life without becoming a cautionary tale. On the other, we have Richard Claybaugh, a Wagoner County man who allegedly wasn’t just driving a commercial rig, but doing it like he was auditioning for Mad Max: Fury Road. And then there’s Snap-On SecureCorp—a foreign business corporation, which sounds like a cybersecurity startup but in this case is apparently in the business of employing people to drive big trucks. Whether they’re also in the business of vetting those people? That’s one of the central questions of this lawsuit.

Here’s how it all went down, according to the petition: On March 13, 2024, Jase Keys was walking in Tulsa County—doing the pedestrian thing, minding his own business, probably not expecting to be turned into a speed bump. Then, out of nowhere, Richard Claybaugh allegedly plows into him with a commercial motor vehicle. Not a near-miss. Not a swerve and a curse. A full-on strike and run. The filing doesn’t say whether Keys was on a crosswalk or just lawfully on the sidewalk, but it does say Claybaugh didn’t stop. He didn’t check on the man he’d just hit. He didn’t call 911. He didn’t even pause to assess the damage—either to the victim or his own vehicle. He allegedly fled the scene, leaving Keys injured, in pain, and probably wondering if he’d been hallucinating the entire incident.

But the real kicker? The petition claims this wasn’t just a moment of panic. It says Claybaugh’s actions were “so extreme, intentionally negligent, willful and grossly negligent in nature as to shock the decency of a reasonable person.” That’s legal code for: “This wasn’t an accident. This was a choice.” And not just any choice—choices that include failing to look out for pedestrians, driving inattentively, operating at an unsafe speed, violating federal trucking regulations, and—get this—failing to stop after hitting a dog. Wait, a dog? So did he hit a dog before hitting Keys? Or after? The filing doesn’t say, but either way, the implication is clear: this guy had already committed one hit-and-run that day and just kept going. If that’s true, it’s not just negligence—it’s a pattern. A rolling crime spree with a Freightliner.

Now, why are we in court? Let’s break it down like we’re explaining it to someone who just woke up from a coma. First, Jase Keys is suing Richard Claybaugh for negligence—specifically, for being a terrible driver in about a dozen different ways at once. But this isn’t just about failing to signal or texting while driving. This is about failing to stop after running over a human being. That’s not just negligence. That’s reckless disregard for human life. And that’s important, because it opens the door to something most civil cases don’t have: punitive damages. These aren’t about paying for medical bills—they’re about punishment. They’re the legal system’s way of saying, “We don’t just want you to pay for the harm you caused. We want you to hurt for it.”

Then there’s Snap-On SecureCorp. Keys isn’t just going after the driver—he’s going after the employer. And that’s where respondeat superior comes in, a Latin phrase that basically means “the boss is on the hook for the employee’s mess.” If Claybaugh was working at the time—delivering something, servicing equipment, whatever—then Snap-On could be liable for his actions. But Keys’ lawyers didn’t stop there. They also threw in a claim for negligent entrustment, which sounds like a trust fund gone wrong but actually means: “You gave this guy a dangerous vehicle, even though you knew—or should have known—he wasn’t fit to drive it.” Did Snap-On skip the background check? Did they ignore a history of reckless driving? Did they hand over the keys to someone who once got written up for using a semi to win a demolition derby? The filing doesn’t say, but the implication is that Snap-On didn’t do their homework. And now someone’s life has been turned upside down.

So what does Jase Keys want? Money, obviously. But not just any amount. He’s demanding at least $75,000 in punitive damages from each defendant—that’s $150,000 in punishment alone. Plus “money damages in excess of the amount required for diversity jurisdiction,” which is lawyer-speak for “we’re asking for more than $75,000, but we’re not saying exactly how much.” Given that Keys allegedly suffered “serious personal injuries,” ongoing pain, medical bills, lost wages, and disfigurement, we’re probably talking six figures minimum. Is that a lot? For a hit-and-run that left a man injured and a company potentially negligent in hiring? Not really. For a case where the driver allegedly didn’t even stop after hitting a dog, let alone a person? Honestly, it feels like the bare minimum. Punitive damages are supposed to hurt, to make an example. And if the allegations are true, Claybaugh and Snap-On need to feel some financial pain for treating a human being like debris on the road.

Here’s our take: the most absurd part isn’t even the hit-and-run. It’s the pattern. The idea that someone could hit a dog, keep driving, then hit a person, and still keep going—that’s not just reckless. That’s sociopathic. And the fact that this was a commercial vehicle makes it worse. These aren’t just regular drivers. Truckers are supposed to be trained, licensed, monitored. They’re subject to federal rules about hours of service, vehicle maintenance, and safety protocols. And yet, somehow, this guy was allowed to operate a multi-ton vehicle like he was in a video game. Was he tired? Drugged? Just a terrible person? We don’t know. But Snap-On’s potential liability here is the real story. Employers don’t get to outsource morality. If you give someone the keys to a weapon on wheels, you better make damn sure they’re not going to use it like one.

We’re rooting for Keys—not just because he got run over, but because this case could set a precedent. Not every civil suit needs to be about murder or fraud to matter. Sometimes, justice is about holding people accountable for the choices they make when no one’s watching. And in this case, Richard Claybaugh made a choice: to drive like a monster and flee like a criminal. Snap-On may have made a different one: to look the other way. If the evidence backs up the claims, this lawsuit isn’t just about compensation. It’s about saying, loud and clear: you don’t get to crush people and keep driving.