George Kresge is being remembered with smiles by those who owned black-and-white TVs. Famous as the Amazing Kreskin, his act harkens back to a time of the three networks signing off for the night, and artists riding Vaudeville-inspired schtick into America’s living rooms.

When Kreskin was born at Montclair, New Jersey, in 1935, fame wasn’t as easy to achieve as it is with the advent of cable TV, the Internet, and social media. The Great Depression and World War II meant he had his work cut out for him to become a household name.

Obituaries refer to Kreskin as a psychic, magician, or hypnotist, but he eschewed those titles. When I booked him on Fox News Channel in 1999, he planted the term “mentalist” in my head to describe him, and I became a stickler for using it on his behalf.

Kreskin didn’t have to insist on being called a “mentalist” to earn my compliance. Instead of threatening hell to pay if his wishes were ignored like other guests might, Kreskin had a subtle and uncanny ability. He’d use the power of suggestion to make his thoughts your own.

The most memorable thing about Kreskin was his handshake, which I’d been put on guard for before he arrived at the studio. When I offered my hand, he grabbed it with a grin; then he set about pumping my arm up and down like I was a slot machine he wanted to pay a jackpot.

Standard handshakes are evaluated on the grip alone. Kreskin was tuned to small details like that and used them to his advantage. After he released me, I was left discombobulated and a little giddy, off kilter and off guard — the perfect mental state for him to work his craft.

“I don’t call myself a mind reader,” Kreskin told the Clarion-Ledger in 2002, “because that implies I can totally penetrate the process of the human brain. I prefer to describe myself as a thought reader,” able to “perceive” the ideas in subjects “willing to open their imaginations.”

Divining subconscious seeds dazzled audiences when Kreskin first appeared on TV in 1964, kicking off a string of appearances that ran, with some pauses, through the rest of his life. From 1972 through 1977, he hosted his own shows, demonstrating that he could command the spotlight solo.

By the time success arrived, the payoff had been a long time coming. Kreskin had been working since before he was dubbed “the world’s youngest hypnotist” at 11. Despite the moniker, he rejected the notion that hypnotists and psychics — as depicted in sitcoms — even existed.

In a 1981 interview with the Vincennes Sun-Commercial, Kreskin described hypnotism as “a way of conning a human being.” Dismissing it as “science fiction,” he said he’d pay “$500,000 to anyone who can prove there is a hypnotic state.” Nobody ever found their way to that check.

Kreskin honed his abilities at Seton Hall University, earning a degree in psychology, and polished them as a clinical psychologist. After making the act his full-time job, he performed for presidents and royalty, planting suggestions and picking up on cues to hold audiences in thrall.

One of Johnny Carson’s most popular recurring bits, “Carnac the Magnificent” or “the Great Karnack,” was a satire of his frequent guest. Imitation being the sincerest form of flattery, the man who made about 90 appearances on “The Tonight Show” loved it.

Rather than do a standard act, Kreskin would lay out tasks that seemed impossible and challenge himself to solve them. At one 1965 appearance at a high school in North Bergen, New Jersey, he asked that his check be hidden in the audience. If he’d proved unable to find it — which he did – he agreed to work for free.

Even as he approached his ninth decade, Kreskin kept entertaining. His final appearance, a “Pendulum Seminar” on Zoom, was in March. With an eye to inspiring future mentalists, he billed it as a way to “train your mind using a pendulum,” and took questions from those eager to learn.

“Let’s not say ‘goodbye,’” Kreskin would tell audiences to close his shows. “Let’s just say ‘to be continued.’” The magnificent mentalist may have had his last curtain call, but his legend abides in the minds of all who saw him — or had the unique pleasure of shaking his hand.