Octavio Duran and Justice Jesse Reyes Talk Legacy, Grit, and Defying Every 'No'

You don’t become the first Latino elected countywide to the Illinois Appellate Court by accident. You don’t get there just because you want it. You get there because you know it’s yours long before anyone else believes it.

Justice Jesse Reyes didn’t come from privilege. He came from Pilsen. From a blue-collar family where stepping up wasn’t optional, it was expected. His stepfather asked him to delay college to support the household, and Justice Reyes did. But he didn’t quit. He took night classes at a junior college and stacked credits toward a four-year university. It wasn’t flashy. It wasn’t easy. But it was faithful.

Persistence was never something Jesse learned from books, it was forged in responsibility. In giving up sleep to read case law, in taking the bus when his Mustang broke down because textbooks mattered more than comfort. He learned early that life doesn’t hand you dreams, you wrestle them into existence. “Pursue your goal that you feel passionate about,” he says. “As long as it’s legal, pursue it. Because you’ll be doing it for the rest of your life.”

Before he wore the robe, Justice Reyes was showing up to trial courtrooms just to watch. He studied body language, listened to tone, absorbed cross-examinations. When he wasn’t reading historical biographies, he was in court observing litigators like a student at a concert hall. This wasn’t about chasing clout, it was about earning craft.

Even when people told him to aim lower, he didn’t flinch. A high school counselor told him college wasn’t for him. A law professor told him he’d never make it in trial law because he didn’t look the part; he wasn’t six feet tall, didn’t have blond hair or blue eyes. But Jesse didn’t argue. He went to court, tried cases, and sent every verdict back to the man who doubted him. “After a while,” he recalls, “he said, ‘Okay, I got it. You were right.’”

Justice Reyes didn’t just make it. He made a point. He gave back. He led the Latin American Bar Association. He founded the Latin American Bar Foundation. He visited schools, spoke to students, and told them what no one told him: You belong here.

As a justice, he carries more than legal authority - he carries lived truth. He knows what it’s like to be the only brown face in the courtroom. But he never saw it as alienation. “I belong here,” he says. “I worked hard to get here.” That belief became a shield and a sword.

Even now, his message hasn’t changed. Get educated. Know your rights. Keep a copy of the Constitution. Don’t wait until it’s too late to seek legal help. Above all, never let someone else’s doubt override your conviction - because Justice Reyes didn’t run for office to be the first. He ran so no one else would have to be the only.