He was the first Mayor of Cleveland, being elected in 1836, and re-elected in 1837, by large majorities, and prepared the original laws and ordinances for the government of the city.
He was amongst the earliest projectors, prior to the reverses of 1836 and 1837, of the railroads to Columbus and Cincinnati, and to Pittsburgh.
In 1840, he was appointed to the bench, thus restoring him to those studies and subjects of thought from which years of public and of business life had diverted him. No sooner had he assumed this new position than by common consent it was recognized as the one above all others he was best fitted to adorn. Possessing the power which so few men have, of close, concentrated, continuous thought, he was at the same time prompt in his decisions. His instructions to juries, and his legal judgments, usually pronounced at considerable length, were marked by that precision of statement, clearness of analysis, and felicity of language, which made them seem like the flowing of a silver stream.
Judge Willey, at the time of his death, which occurred in June, 1841, was President Judge of the Fourteenth Judicial District. He died deeply regretted by a large circle of professional and other friends, who had become much attached to him for his many virtues, uniform and dignified, yet unostentatious life.
In the Western Law Journal for 1852, we find a judicial anecdote related of Mr. Willey, in illustration of his wit, and immovable self-possession. The writer says: "At his last term in Cleveland we happened in while he was pronouncing sentence upon a number of criminals who had been convicted during the week, of penitentiary offenses. One of them, a stubborn looking fellow, who, to the usual preliminary question of whether he had anything to offer why the sentence of the law should not be pronounced upon him, had replied somewhat truculently, that he had 'nothing to say,' but who when the judge was proceeding in a few prefatory remarks to explain to the man how fairly he had been tried, etc., broke in upon the court by exclaiming that 'he did'nt care if the court had convicted him, he wasn't guilty _any_ how.' 'That will be a consolation to you,' rejoined the judge, with unusual benignity, and with a voice full of sympathy and compassion, 'That will be a consolation to you, in the hour of your confinement, for we read in the good Book that it is better to _suffer_ wrong, than _do_ wrong.' In the irrepressible burst of laughter which followed this unexpected response, all joined except the judge and the culprit."