And the fighter got its name secondhand. The British ordered the aircraft first and christened it Mustang; the Americans wanted to call their version the Apache, tried it, and dropped it in favour of the British name. Everyone agrees the British took the word from the wild horses of the American West. Nobody wrote down why. So the plane that came off a North Texas prairie carried a name the British had already borrowed from the animal that used to run it — the long way round, and back to the same grass.
The field next door has a story of its own. Hensley had been an army airfield since the 1920s; in May 1941 the Navy commissioned a reserve aviation base on part of it, and somebody looked at the map, counted the hundreds of miles of dry country between that runway and the nearest ocean, and started calling it the Prairie Navy. The name stuck. What came through it is the strange part: fleet pilots and Marines, Coast Guard, the WAVES who enlisted for emergency service and kept the place running, a contingent of Free French forces a long way from France, and three men who would later leave the atmosphere entirely.
Why People Visit Grand Prairie, Texas
People come for the central Metroplex location and the mix of prairie, lakes, and live racing — and stay curious about an aviation heritage most visitors never expect from a city between Dallas and Fort Worth. It is flat, friendly, and in the middle of everything, with a long horizon and a longer memory than its suburbs suggest.
